


The Angel's Wife

by fiacresgirl



Series: Angels and Archangels [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, F/M, Magic, Marriage of Convenience, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:03:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 70,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiacresgirl/pseuds/fiacresgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/><br/></p>
</div>Compelled to save Karelia from the Skalvian onslaught, Oliver has claimed Felicity as his in front of all the angels. Now the two of them must come to grips with the bonds - magical, emotional, and political - between them, or they stand to lose everything they love to certain death.
            </blockquote>





	1. A Labyrinth of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of the Angels and Archangels series. Please read part one - [The Librarian's Daughter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5564191?view_full_work=true) \- first.
> 
> A hearty thank you to my dear beta, [Lerayon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lerayon/pseuds/lerayon), who patiently headcanons with me and edits for content, [Angela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hotcookinmama/pseuds/hotcookinmama), who both encourages me and corrects my grammar, [Liza](http://andthesecondthing.tumblr.com/) who's keeping me on track to actually finish this and all my other works, and to my sister, for everything. I appreciate you!
> 
> Credit for the lovely envisioning of Oliver and Felicity goes to [Annalise Jensen/may12324](http://may12324.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> **The Angel's Wife** is dedicated to my friend Deb, who is struggling with what life has thrown at her...and not giving up.

Felicity watched Oliver as the meeting of the Council of Angels adjourned. Maximilian leaned over and said something to him, and Oliver nodded solemnly. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but she sensed that his attention was on her just the same. She was aware of him as if they were the only people in this enormous room. Her throat closed, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe for a moment. Then he looked up and his eyes locked on hers, the blue burning like a flame. He stood, put a hand on Maximilian’s shoulder, and nodded at him.

Malcolm was suddenly in front of her, and Tommy stood. “Father,” he said.

“Tommy,” Malcolm said. “I need to speak to Felicity.” But Oliver was already there. He reached down and touched her elbow, urging her to her feet.

“Come,” he said, and he pulled her through the hall and outside. His fingers on her arm were gentle but firm, and she felt all of them individually sizzling her flesh, five ovoid brands. When they reached the cobbled square before the Great Hall, she pulled herself away from his grasp, but looking down, she saw her skin was unmarred. Still it burned. Her whole arm, both arms, were burning.

“ _What are you doing?_ ” she asked.

“Keeping you away from danger,” he said and then crouched down. “Put your arms around my neck.”

“What?” she asked, eyes widening. “No. I don’t want to fly.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” he said. “Or what I want. Put your arms around my neck. Now.” The blue flame flickered brightly at her again, and she slid her arms over his wide shoulders. Her fingers caught in the serrated edges of his wings, but she looped them around his neck and clasped her hands together. He reached around her waist, pulled her body against his, and threw them both in the air. It was too much for her, the surprise movement after his sudden declaration, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the buildings of the castle far below her feet.

“Where are we going?” she asked finally, her voice louder so he could hear over the forceful beat of his wings.

“Your house and then the library,” he said into her ear. “We need to get the books. I’ll explain everything I can when we have a minute, but right now the only thing that matters is that we get the Skalvian books.”

“The Skalvian books,” she said, opening her eyes, but he was already alighting on her father’s balcony. He placed her on her feet, keeping a hand on her shoulder to balance her.

“Get any books you have here, plus anything Dally may have been writing. We can come back for the rest of your things later,” he said and pushed open the balcony door. Kalina was sitting on the bed nursing Gosia. She looked up in panic.

“It’s only me,” Felicity said.

Kalina slid off the bed, dislodging Gosia, who fussed a little but didn’t cry. “Are you alright?” she asked.

Felicity didn’t answer. What could she say? The night had taken a crazy turn, and she was struggling to tamp down her fear and panic. Dally was gone, she no longer had a home, and this angel behind her was her husband now. She walked over and held her hands out to Gosia who smiled and came to her. Felicity lifted Gosia’s head to her lips and kissed the soft, tufty hair there. She closed her eyes and breathed in her baby smell, and she felt Kalina put an arm around her shoulder.

“Has anyone come around the house since we left?” Oliver asked. Felicity opened her eyes.

“Yes,” Kalina said, “but Ludek has been at the front door, and my father has been here with me until a few minutes ago. No one got in.”

“Angels?” Oliver asked.

“I didn’t see them,” Kalina said. “Ask my husband.” She blushed slightly, and Felicity was confused.

“I will,” Oliver said. “Get the books and papers, Felicity.” He left the room, and they heard the rhythm of his footsteps on the stairs.

Felicity handed the baby back to Kalina and went over to Dally’s desk. He had a number of loose pieces of vellum there, and she grabbed them and stacked them together. She rifled through the drawers and found nothing.

“What’s going on?” Kalina asked.

Felicity searched underneath the bed and then in the nook behind the little shrine to Byelobog in the corner. There was a small book there that looked like a diary and a few pieces of jewelry of her mother’s. She pulled these out, found a satchel, and pushed everything she’d gathered inside. Then she crossed the hall.

Underneath her bed she had two books on Skalvia. She put them in the satchel. She also took the little book of herbs and small magic that Dally had copied for her from one in the library, as well as a change of clothing. She could get the rest later. She frowned as she realized that she couldn’t, that she wouldn’t be able to, that she wouldn’t be sleeping in her bed tonight. She wouldn’t be sleeping on the soft pallet she’d closed her eyes and rested on every night for the last fifteen years… across the hall from Dally.

“Did you hear me?” Kalina asked louder. “What’s going on?”

Felicity placed the satchel on the floor and sat on her bed. “What’s going on is that since Dally’s been taken, the Council of Angels appointed Anton librarian, and Oliver claimed me at the meeting.”

Kalina stared at her. “ _Claimed_ you?” She sat down next to Felicity with Gosia in her lap.

“I don’t really know what that means, practically. Has any clan leader claimed anyone in our lifetime? In the last hundred years? It’s barbaric, that’s what it is.”

Kalina’s eyes got rounder, and she glanced at the door. “That angel… he claimed you at the meeting? In front of all the other angels?”

“Yes,” Felicity said.

“I guess it means he wants you,” she said. “Really _wants_ you.” She crossed her legs and gave a slow smile. “What did you do that I didn’t?”

Felicity frowned. “It’s not like that,” she said. “It has something to do with Dally, and with Malcolm and the Skalvians. I don’t know why he did this. He said my mother had never been expelled from Zemlya, I was in his clan, and he was claiming me.” She stopped as she realized what her friend had said. “Wait, you _know_ him?”

Kalina nodded. “I met him a few weeks ago. He was lurking about by The Three Owls. You remember the night?”

Felicity nodded. “I remember.”

“He came in with me and bought me a couple of drinks, but I think he was there for some other reason because he didn’t try anything. In fact, he and that deranged woman with the vendetta - Sara? - they walked me home. I told him I’d like to get to know him better, but he turned me down.”

“You told him you wanted…” Felicity couldn’t finish that sentence for some reason. “Are you sure he understood?”

“He understood,” Kalina said. “I wasn’t subtle. He wasn’t interested in me. Apparently he’s interested in _you_.”

“You weren’t subtle,” Felicity said.

“I had my hands on the front of his trousers, Lisya. I’m embarrassed now that he’s your--”

“He’s _not_ my anything,” Felicity said. “There has to be a way to get unclaimed or unchosen, however you say it. I’m not interested in him, and he didn’t ask me about any of this. He just said, ‘She is mine,’ in front of all these angels, and now I’m supposed to be his property?”

“‘She is mine,’” Kalina repeated and shivered. Jostled, Gosia looked up at her mother and hiccoughed, and Kalina smiled down at her and touched her nose with her own. “I don’t know what’s going on with the angels or the castle or any of this, Felicity, but Zvyozda is surrounded by horrible giant white people, and that angel downstairs looks at you like he’s dying of hunger already. If you don’t climb on top of him when he takes you home, I don’t know how we can even be friends.”

Felicity choked. “That,” she said, “that is not happening.” She stood up and grabbed the satchel from the floor. “Listen, Kalina. Do you think you could get my things together for me here? Anton will probably show up today to take possession of the house, and I need at least the important things to be boxed up by the time he gets here.”

“Anton is going to be living here?” Kalina asked.

“The angel council made it clear that the house comes with the position of librarian, and he didn’t turn any of it down.”

“I bet he didn’t,” Kalina said. “Another apple falls into Anton’s lap. Isn’t he the luckiest angel around? I’m sure he can’t wait to settle in and get what he _deserves_.” She held Gosia tighter.

“So do you think you could pack up the essentials for me?” Felicity asked. “You’ve been in the house enough. You know the things I’d need and what has sentimental value to Dally and me. Just put those aside.”

Kalina stood up and kissed Felicity. “By the time Anton gets here,” she said, “I will have dismantled this house to the mountain face, and he can try to settle his bones on the bare rock.”

 

>>\--->

 

It wasn’t yet dawn when Oliver and Felicity left her house and flew to the library. He slipped her satchel over his shoulder and pulled her against him as if she weighed nothing. She put her lips against his ear and said, “Go back to the great hall. If no one is supposed to know about this, we’ll have to take the back entrance.”

Behind the great hall, a passageway to the storerooms teed into another and then another, and finally Felicity and Oliver arrived at a dimly lit section. Felicity lit a rushlight on a torch, and handed it to him. She felt along the face of the rock until she found a small opening. She pulled a key out of her pocket and inserted it. The door swung open, and they both entered a low tunnel. Behind her, Oliver crouched to pass through it. The tunnel sloped down until they reached a staircase. She took the rushlight back and led him down the stairs. She knew these passages like the back of her hand, but sometimes the stone could be slippery.

“Is this the only secret entrance to the library?” Oliver asked.

“No,” she said. At the bottom of the stairs was a hallway with a number of doorways. Some were open. She walked past these and a little further down, and then felt along the rock for another keyhole. When she found it, she unlocked and opened the door, and ushered Oliver through and into a small room. Felicity closed the door behind them and pocketed the key, then lit the torch inside and pushed him against the wall with one hand. “Now is when you tell me what is going on,” she said, “or you’re not going anywhere. I may not be angelic, but I am the only person in this whole castle who knows where we are and how to get out of the library from here.”

“The Skalvian books--” Oliver said.

“Are a few hundred feet from here,” Felicity said, “and the sooner you tell me what you are doing and what _your claiming me_ was about, the sooner we can go get them.”

“They can’t wait,” Oliver said. He put a hand on her shoulder and, with no distance between them, he loomed over her. The light from the torch played with the hollows of his face making it seem fiercer than usual, but she tamped down her nerves.

“They can and will,” she said. “Up until now I didn’t believe you looked at humans in the same way other angels did, as servants or people to be used.”

“Felicity,” Oliver said in a low voice. “Get the books _now_. You can lock me inside here while you do it, but get them. Is this room part of the library?”

“It’s one of Dally’s private rooms,” Felicity said. “It’s so small because he carved it out himself with only his apprentice Radek for help. Radek is dead now. No one else knows about it, and no one but me has the key.”

“Good,” Oliver said. “Listen, you have to leave some of the Skalvian books here or they will know someone has them, and they will wonder if it’s you. So take only the important ones, the ones that might possibly have any information we don’t know about the Skalvians already.”

Felicity stared him in the eyes. She still had one hand pushed against his chest, and she wondered if she were being even remotely intimidating. Maybe she should pull out her knife.

“Now,” he said. “Please.”

Something in his eyes answered a question she hadn’t realized she was asking, so she held her rushlight to the door and pushed it open. Felicity closed it behind her but didn’t lock it. She walked quickly to the room of languages and then to the shelf of Skalvian books. She bent over and held her rushlight to the spines. There were a couple of them that she had already read when she was learning the tongue. She left those and a volume of poetry, but she took a traveler’s account, a scroll containing maps, and a thick history. She was carrying them away from the room when she heard voices. She blew out her light and eased out into the corridor and into another room, hiding behind a shelf of books.

“Why do you need books on Skalvia?” This was Anton’s voice, coming from the end of the corridor. “Do you read Skalvian?”

“Don’t ask questions, Anton,” another voice said. “I need them because there is a horde of Skalvians sitting on our front doorstep right now.”

“But if you can’t read the language, what good are they to you? I’m not even sure if we have anything anyway. Adalbert never spoke of any Skalvian resources.” Anton’s voice was louder now.

“You have them,” the voice said. “Just give them to me and go back to doing the job the Council of Angels appointed you to do.”  

Felicity peeked between the books and saw Anton walk past carrying a torch. Another angel followed. He was shorter and older than Anton. She squinted hard, and just then the angel looked over his shoulder. She saw his face: Hugo.

The two of them entered the languages room, and the light in the corridor brightened as Anton lit the torch in there with the one he was carrying.

“All of the books in foreign tongues are in here. If there are Skalvian texts, they would be in this section,” Anton said and then paused. “It looks like you were right. There are three books here.”

“Three? That’s all?” Hugo asked. “I thought there would be more.”

“We don’t have an enormous collection of books in any other tongue,” Anton said. “There is a whole shelf of books in Latin, though, and I can read those.” He sounded pleased to be able to say that.

“I don’t care about the books in Latin,” Hugo said snappishly. “Are we facing a Latin army?”

“The Roman army,” Anton said. “Sir. ‘Latin is the language, but Roman is the cultural and geographic designation.’”

Felicity’s throat closed hearing her father’s instruction come out of Anton’s mouth. She bit her lip.

“The Roman army, then,” Hugo said. “Are they encamped a quarter of a verst away from Zvyozda’s walls?”

“No, Angel Hugo.”

“Then spare me any lecturing of how I’m to talk about them.” He hummed a little to himself. “Three books. Do you think that’s all there ever were?”

“I--”

“I know, I know: you don’t know. We’ll have to search Adalbert’s - your - office and house to see if he had any there. It seems unlikely, given the timing, but we need to check.”

“Do you want to take these books?” Anton asked.

“Not really,” Hugo said. “Can anyone else get down here to this section?”

“No,” Anton said. “It’s on the map, but that’s notated in Latin, and no one can read it but Adalbert and I.”

“Not his daughter?”

“Felicity?” Anton asked. “No. She’s never shown any curiosity about the books. She has a little desk in Adalbert’s room - the librarian’s room - but she’s only ever used it for drawing and such. She’s knows a little of our Slavic language because Adalbert taught it to her, but that’s it.”

“You’re certain?”

“I’ve seen her practically every day for the past several years I’ve been apprentice here at the library.”

“Then we should leave these books here,” Hugo said. “At least until we figure out what to do. Take me back up.”

The light coming from the corridor dimmed as Anton doused the torch in a bucket of sand. Felicity saw them walk past again. Hugo’s posture was more relaxed. Anton looked annoyed. When the flicker from his torch was long gone and everything was completely dark, she made her way back to the corridor and felt her way along it with her fingertips. The walls by Dally’s secret room were smoother. She found the spot and eased open the door, then opened her mouth to speak when she felt a firm hand go over it. She was pulled into the room and against a hard chest so fast her breath whooshed out of her.

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity closed her eyes, which didn’t change anything in the darkness, but did help her to calm herself down. “Oliver,” she said.

The iron band around her chest loosened a fraction. “They’re gone,” Oliver said.

“Yes. Let me go,” she said.

His arm relaxed but he held on until she was balanced on both feet. It was pitch black in both the hallway and Dally’s small room, but she reached over and closed the door anyway.

“Did you get the books?” Oliver asked.

“Yes, but I didn’t take them all. Did you hear them walk by?”

“I heard them talking when they were on the other side of the door, but not what they said after that,” he said. “It was Anton and who else?”

“Hugo,” she said. “They looked over the remaining books and left them there. I don’t know if they think there should be more, but Anton told Hugo that I’m barely literate, so that’s good.” She couldn’t decide if she were happy or annoyed that Anton believed she was an idiot. Did it prove that she could pretend or just that he was blithely unaware? Or both?

“Hugo,” Oliver said in a disbelieving voice.

“You thought it would be someone else?” she asked as she began patting her pockets looking for her flint. It was so disconcerting to be with him in this total darkness. She needed to see his face when she asked him her questions.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Trying to find my flint,” she said. “I need to be able to see.” She thought she’d had more rushlights in the pocket of her kirtle, but she couldn’t seem to find them now either.

“Not a problem,” he said and then whispered, “ _Idi syuda, ogonyok_.”* A tiny ball of flame appeared, and she saw that it was in the palm of his right hand, hovering just above the skin. She leaned forward and felt the warmth against her forehead. Yes, it was true fire.

“How did you _do_ that?” she asked.

He bent over and gathered up the torch from the sand bucket, holding it in his left hand above the flame in his right. He made a movement that looked like a nudge, and the flame eased its way from his hand to the wood and began jumping and crackling there.

“It’s a simple bit of house magic a woman taught me once,” he said.

“You think creating fire is simple magic?”

“I didn’t create it,” he said. “I gathered it. I can only gather it if there are remnants of fire in the space - here in the room.” The torched burned brighter now, and she could see the wry twist of his mouth. “And if the flame doesn’t mind.”

“Who _are_ you?” she asked.

“I’m Oliver, son of Robert, and just another angel until recently,” he said. He eased the torch back into its holder.

Just another angel. Mmhmm. She narrowed her eyes. “I have the books now like you asked. Now, I need to know about what happened at the meeting last night. What did that mean, you claiming me? I know it means that all of the angels think I belong to you now, but what did _you_ think it meant?” The room was illuminated now, and she looked down and saw her hands shaking, so she stuffed them into her pockets. It was better if he didn’t know how much his answer mattered to her.

She saw him blow out his breath and lean back against the wall. The tension from his wings didn’t allow him to flatten himself against it, but he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, and she followed him down and sat down with her legs crossed facing him.  

“I didn’t really intend to do that,” he said. “I was only going to use that option as a last resort, but I never thought they would take Adalbert or that Malcolm would make a grab for you so soon after.”

“What?” she asked. “Malcolm didn’t make a grab for me.”

He tilted his head at her. “You were there,” he said. “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember him saying I could live with him…” She closed her eyes and tried to focus. “He said that Tommy…” She opened her eyes. “You think he was going to announce a marriage between Tommy and me? Why would he do that? He thinks I’m his daughter. At least I thought he did.”

“I think he does,” Oliver said. “Adalbert thought so too - which means that whatever he wants from you is more important to him than avoiding an incestuous marriage between his children because, yes, that’s what he was going to announce.”

Felicity recoiled. “No. No, it can’t be. He doesn’t want anything from me. He never has. Up until this summer, he hadn’t spoken to me for years.”

Oliver put a hand on the floor and shifted his weight. “Adalbert was adamant about Malcolm not having any power over you. He asked me to ensure it.”

“Dally wanted this?”

“He knew it was a possibility. We discussed it, once I discovered you were still a member of Zemlya. I told him I didn’t think it would be necessary, but I didn’t expect Malcolm to move so suddenly and so decisively. Also, my gift was telling me--”

“Your gift?”

“My whole body was on fire up there in that instant. I’ve never felt like I had to do anything as much I as knew I had to to claim you. And as soon as I did, it receded.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “So now that I’m your _thing_ , you feel better.”

“Felicity, you’re not my thing. I know that this probably feels like possession to you. I didn’t want that, I swear. But from what I can figure, you are the only person in this entire castle who can stop the Skalvians from killing everyone because you are the only one who can read those books.”

“What am I supposed to get out of those books? You still haven’t told me!”

“I don’t know! I only saw one of them once, when I was a child. All that I know is that fifteen years ago, the Council of Angels was divided about going against the Skalvians. Many of them thought it was a terrible idea, but then Adalbert did some research. He came to the council and said he thought he might be able to learn something that could help them defeat them. My father told me that. Three days later almost everyone on that council was dead, and the city was about to fall.”

Felicity held up a hand. “Wait. You’re saying that Dally told them to fight the Skalvians?”

“No,” he said, “I’m saying I think he thought the Skalvians might have a weakness, and that someone made him forget it with magic. I know my father went to talk to him. He had a large book with illustrations of monstrous, bloodless men in it. I saw it.” He reached over and held her wrist. “When Adalbert was taken last night, I knew there was someone still here in Zvyozda who didn’t want anyone to know what was in that book. As he was dying, my father told me that we’d been betrayed, and I needed to see who benefited from the battle after it was over and punish them.”

Felicity got to her feet and started pacing the little room. “It was Hugo out in the hall,” she said.  

“Yes,” Oliver said, standing. “That’s a little surprising. He’s oily and nervous, but he doesn’t seem like much of a planner. He is the head of the Veter clan despite being only a few years older than I am, though.”

“You and Dally think it was Malcolm,” Felicity said. Her mind raced with a new horrible thought. She and Tommy had gone looking for supplies to undo the spell on Dally. Malcolm had known she was looking for them. He’d _given_ her the elf leaf oil and the angelica himself. Only a few days later, Dally had been taken. She ran her hand across her cheek and mouth.

“You don’t think that I...that when Tommy and I went out to get…” She couldn’t finish. This was her fault.

“You couldn’t have known,” he said softly. “I didn’t, and Adalbert wouldn’t blame you. Obviously anyone who can read the books is in real danger which is another reason for the claiming. If I take you into my house, I can protect you. I couldn’t just install you in my house as an unmarried woman from Ogon. It would have destroyed your reputation.”

“My reputation?” Felicity said. “Why are we worrying about my reputation now of all times?”

Oliver pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “If we survive this, I’ll see if I can find a way to end this arrangement.” He found her eyes. “It’s possible your father is still alive. The fact that he was taken and not killed - and that he was bespelled to begin with - indicates that he’s valuable to someone. If he’s alive, I’ll get him back for you.”

She saw that he was serious, and she clung to this sudden hope. “Can you promise that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I’m the only one in Karelia who will even try. I’ll do what I can. Will you help me figure out what’s in the books?”

Felicity sighed. Did she have a choice? The castle was surrounded, Dally was gone because of what she had done, and Oliver was the best hope her people had of living through this. He was asking, though, and that was something most angels never did. “Alright,” she said. “I’ll help you.”  

 

>>\--->

 

When they returned to the great hall again, Felicity assumed that they would fly back to Zemlya, but Oliver took her by the elbow and tugged her down a different passage. “We can’t be seen carrying this,” he said, gesturing to the satchel.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You’re not the only one who knows secret ways to get around,” he said. “There is a back way to Zemlya; we’ll take that.”

He led her through an alley that ran east to west and then down a cobbled slope. There was a small building at the bottom of it, and he fished a key from his pocket and opened it. Inside was an empty room and another door. “All the clans have these passages that lead from the central square,” he said. “This leads directly to my house, but there are a number of storage rooms and even a bunker attached. I want to show one of these to you.” He took a stick of wood from a basket by the door, lit it with his flint, then opened the door and ducked under the frame. Felicity followed.

They walked for a long time eventually passing a large cavernous room and a hall filled with doors. Oliver passed all of them until he came to a blank wall at the end of it. Oliver held his hand out flat and touched the wall.  “ _Pokazhi sebya_ ,”* he said, and Felicity saw a faintly glowing rectangle - the outline of a hidden door. “ _Otkroysya_ ,”* he said, and the door swung open. He gestured for Felicity to enter and followed her with the torch.

Inside the flame illuminated an actual treasure trove. Gold candlesticks, silver plates and lamps, and heavily carved furniture was packed inside a medium-sized room. Felicity looked down and saw a number of trunks as well. She raised her eyebrows at Oliver.

“My mother took no chances the last time the Skalvians came,” he said. “Before they even arrived she had the housekeeper bring everything of real value down here. The house is still furnished, of course, but only with practical items. She left my father’s books, though. I think she resented them. They had a complicated marriage.” He set the torch in its holder, and then pulled the satchel from his shoulder.

“And you’re showing me all of this because you want me to trust you?” she asked.

His mouth quirked. “No. I’m showing you because this is the most secure room in Zemlya, so I’m going to leave the Skalvian books here.” He pulled them out one by one and set them on a table inlaid with marble tile. “You can read them whenever you want, here or upstairs. The room opens at my touch. The entire house is protected by magic, however, so you should be safe here. What happened to Dally can’t happen to you. No one who wishes to harm anyone here is permitted by the magics to enter.”

Felicity felt a twinge of resentment at the sense of security angels enjoyed. “That seem like a powerful spell,” she said. “Did it cost a lot of money?”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said. “It’s blood magic. The legend is that there was a war between clan leaders centuries ago, and none of them trusted each other. So my ancestor hired an architect to build a house. When he was done, he had him killed, and he used his blood to create a shield of protection around it.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “So I should sleep well knowing that angels drained this poor architect’s blood?”

Oliver shrugged. “It’s just a legend. If it makes you feel better, all of the clan houses have the same spells, and they couldn’t have all used the same architect. The buildings weren’t even constructed in the same era.”

“There aren’t any architects in the city anymore,” Felicity said and shuddered.

“There hasn’t been anywhere to build for decades at least,” Oliver said. “There’s no longer any space within the city walls.”

Felicity gave the room another look, wondering if any other morbid surprises awaited.

“My point is, it’s safe,” Oliver said. “We’ll leave whatever you’re not planning on reading here, and take the rest to my room. If the Skalvians attack, you’re to come here. Alone. The room recognizes my blood.” He pulled a knife from his pocket and slashed his palm then gestured for her to give him hers. She stepped away from him, but he grabbed her hand and cut a shallow line across the inside of it. He held her hand in his to allow their blood to mingle and then pressed hers against the wall. “ _Znay moyu krov'_ ,”* he said.

Felicity yanked her hand away from the wall. “Ouch!” she said. He stared at her, and she looked down at the tiny wound on her palm and felt a little foolish. “Just keep your knife away from me,” she said finally.

“My housekeeper, Mila, can put some salve on that in a minute,” Oliver said. “Grab whatever book you want to take.”

She picked up the thick one that she’d pulled from the library today and turned back to the door. “Let’s go,” she said wearily.

 

>>\--->

 

Oliver watched Felicity as she put one tired foot in front of the other and climbed the stairs to his fourth-story bedroom. She was obviously exhausted and yet she hummed with tension. He knew her mind was still on her father and what might be happening to him. Oliver preferred not to speculate on that since he had no control over it. He hoped Adalbert was not reliving Oliver’s hellish experience with the Skalvians.

Felicity reached the top of the stairs and put a hand on the door to push it open. Inside the sun from the southern exposure shone through the open balcony doors and splashed the walls of the room with yellow light. This was the only room on this story, so it was spacious and comfortable. There were chests for clothing and personal items, a small table and chairs, a desk for writing, and a large bed in the middle of the space.

His large bed. Oliver frowned.

Mila had obviously been here since he was here last because the room had been tidied, the dishes removed, and his bed remade. He didn’t ask her to do that; he kept things reasonably straight himself. She wanted to do things for him, though, to thank him for the welcome he’d given her and her family.

Felicity was still staring at the bed. Her face had an expression of mild horror, and a part of Oliver felt offended. There had to be hundreds of women in the castle who would have eagerly come up here with him, but he found himself permanently attached to one with no appreciation for his attractions. He knew that was unfair, that by claiming her publicly, he’d actually frightened her and that was on top of her fear for Adalbert. The tension that was holding her body in its grip right now was another layer of fear. But did she think him a rapist?

In his career as a student, a rake, and a soldier, he could look back at a number of the things he’d done with shame, but rape was not one of them. Apparently this woman didn’t know that, though.

“The bed’s yours,” he said. “I’ll sleep on my pallet. I’m used to it.”

He saw her take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mila said that she sent some people over to Zemlya to pick up your things. You should get some rest now, and you can wash up and change your clothes when you wake up.”

She nodded at him but didn’t move. Finally he walked over to her, took her hands in his, and led her to the bed. She stiffened again. “Felicity, you’re safe here,” he said. He pushed her lightly down, and she sat on the bed but didn’t relax.

“They took Dally,” she said. “I can’t imagine what’s happening to him now.”

“They won’t take you,” Oliver said. “The house is safe, and I’m here. If I have to leave, I’ll get someone to sit here with you.”

“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked.

“Lay down,” he said, and she did so obediently, on her back with her legs straight out. “Do you want to know what they did to me?” he asked. She looked taken aback, but then she nodded slowly.

“They didn’t really hurt me,” he said. “Not when they held me captive.”

“They killed your father,” she said.

“He died from his battle wounds,” Oliver said. That was mostly true. They’d executed him in front of the castle, but Robert would have died anyway.

“They branded you.”

“Not to torture me. That’s what they do with captives they mean to keep,” he said.

She looked at him sharply. “So I should hope they brand Dally?” she asked.

“Your father’s old,” Oliver said. “They won’t be worried that he’ll escape and run away. That’s what they brand you against.” Also because they were soulless, merciless monsters, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

She yawned and turned on her side. “They won’t feed him,” she said. “And his joints get so painful when the weather acts up.”

“He’s not just any hostage,” Oliver said. “He has rare skills. He knows four languages including Skalvian.”

“Seven,” Felicity said and closed her eyes. “He only speaks five, though. But one of them _is_ Skalvian. Maybe he can tell them what he needs.”

“He will,” Oliver said. “If there’s one thing that Adalbert is good at, it’s talking.” He thought she would say something to that, but when he looked down at her again, she was asleep. He reached down to the foot of the bed where Mila had left an extra sheet, covered her with it, and then went to find out what had happened in Zvyozda since he’d dared to defy Malcolm.

 

 

*Translation:

 _Idi syuda, ogonyok = “_ Come here, little flame.”

 _Pokazhi sebya = “_ Show yourself.”

 _Otkroysya =_ “Open up.”

 _Znay moyu krov =_ “Know my blood.”


	2. New Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the claiming, Felicity tries to find her footing in Oliver's household. Meanwhile Tommy works on finding the angel baby a new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a map of the northern part of Karelia for reference (a larger copy [is here](https://twitter.com/fiacresgirl/status/905289798260318210)): 
> 
>  

When Felicity awoke it was evening. Dusk blanketed the room with its soft, faded strands of color, and everything was blurred. Sleep dragged down her eyelids again. She reached for the afghan her mother had bought from their summer neighbor in Ryn, but instead she felt the stiffer weave of linen sheets. She opened her eyes and squinted at the room and out the balcony doors. She remembered in a rush all that had happened in the last day, how she was no longer the librarian’s daughter. She was now the angel’s wife, Matka Zemlya protect her.

There was a knock on the door. It was a tentative rapping, so she got up, opened it, and saw an older woman there with a tray of food: bread, soup, and a glass of wine. This must be Mila, Oliver’s housekeeper. She was about Adalbert’s age, thin and trim. Her face was a tracery of lines. They fanned out from her eyes and mouth, and her brown eyes were kind, but sad. Felicity smiled and held the door open wider, and Mila came in and set the tray down on the desk. She briskly smoothed her tanned hands against her long, woolen apron and then held them behind her back.  

“I thought you’d be hungry, angela,” she said. “In Zemlya we eat at scheduled times now, but I saved your portion at Angel Oliver’s request.” She glanced at the door. “You’d better eat it now, though. I can’t keep all the hands off of it forever.”

 Felicity took the bread and ripped off a chunk of it. The crust was hard, but the inside was springy and had a gloriously yeasty smell. She was surprised at how hungry she actually was. “I knew Zemlya was rationing because I heard Oliver’s speech, but is this the portion?” The soup was simple vegetables in broth - parsnips, barley, and onions. She bit into the bread. Lovely.

“This is the main portion. We all get a ration of kasha in the morning and milk if it’s available.” “Is it enough?” Felicity asked.

“It will have to be,” Mila said. “I’ve been over the stores. We can hold out for awhile, but we won’t be getting much from the outside again, now that those ghouls are sitting on our doorstep. Angels are still scouring the countryside and trying to bring back supplies, but most of our food is still in the fields waiting to be harvested.”

Felicity pushed the tray away from herself. All of that grain was going to rot in the fields while the people here starved. She felt guilty eating this soup.

“Oh, no,” Mila said. “Angel Oliver said you’re to eat that, and I’m to give you whatever you need. He said we all have our roles to play, but yours is particularly important.” She gave Felicity a knowing look. “Come on, now. Eat it.”

Felicity picked up her spoon and took a bite. It had an odd taste. “Is there _mint_ in here?”

Mila grimaced. “Some of the girls who’ve been assigned to Survive don’t know the difference between certain herbs, but they’re learning. The mint gives it a cheerful taste that lightens up the barley, doesn’t it?”

Felicity frowned. Had she heard that right? “Assigned to survive?”

“Yes, we’ve all been given our jobs to help Zemlya get through this. There are three goals: survive, fight, and flee. Angel Oliver asked the clan council to separate people by their abilities and put them in charge of different tasks that need to be done.”

“And what does the group assigned to survive do?” Felicity asked.

“They’re in charge of meeting everyone’s basic needs: food, shelter, and medicine. A number of children arrived here without parents, and they need to be cared for. If we get any more refugees, they are to be attended to right away. If there are no emergencies, we’re to take care of the quarter, fixing it and cleaning it up.”

“Is that group made up primarily of people?”

“Yes, most of the angels have been assigned to defend the castle, as the angel/human hierarchy originally intended. Angel Oliver is setting up the training schedule right now with his new man, Darek.”

“Who?”

“The man he brought back from the south. He was in the army that went out to fight the Skalvians. He says...he says…” Mila broke off and looked out toward the balcony doors. Felicity noticed that she appeared to be fighting back tears. She put her spoon down.

“He says what, Mila?”

Mila looked back at her. “He says that no one but him survived. The rest were all mown down by the Skalvians in minutes.” She lifted her hand to her mouth; it was shaking.

Felicity considered this. Oliver had only returned to the city weeks ago, and his family’s house had been closed for years. If he had a staff now, it’s only because he’d recently acquired it, either by hiring people or…

“Mila, how long have you been in Zvyozda?”

“Only a few weeks, angela,” she said. “Angel Oliver gave us a place.” She went over to the bed and began making it up again.

“And your village was…”

“Tartak on the lower Yura. It was overrun, I assume,” Mila said, shaking out a pillow. “We saw the column of smoke coming from the south, and we packed what we could and fled. We had to travel more slowly than the others because my mother gets tired. We pulled her in a cart overland. My son and my daughter’s husband went toward the smoke to help in the fight the same day we left. We haven’t seen either of them since.” She shook out the extra blanket with a jerk.

Felicity swallowed. This woman had lost two of her loved ones to the Skalvians, and she was still climbing four flights of stairs to bring up soup to a stranger and put new sheets on her bed. “My father,” she said, “was taken two nights ago and given to them.”

Mila looked up from her folding. “I know,” she said. “Everyone in the city does. I’m very sorry.”

“Does everyone think he’s dead?” Felicity asked. She didn’t know what to even hope for, or she did, but it seemed too impossible that Adalbert could still be alive and alright.

“No one knows what to think,” Mila said and bustled about, pulling the sheets up tightly and tucking them under the mattress. “They know he was taken and that Angel Oliver claimed you. But no one knows what any of it _means_.”

“May I ask you what they’re saying?” Felicity asked.

“Ask me anything. You’re his angela and the mistress of this house,” Mila said. There was no question of who _he_ was. Oliver had made another conquest, this time by his generosity.

“Tell me, then,” Felicity said. “But you don’t have to call me ‘angela’.”

“Well, the young girls think it’s all very romantic,” Mila said, picking a few items off the floor. “His claiming you that way and bringing you here. Anyone who’s practical knows we’re all in a lot of trouble, though. It’s a mercy that the gods have seen fit to send us your husband to help us in our time of need.”

Felicity blinked at that. Her husband. To everyone in the quarter, to everyone _in the castle_ , this was a real marriage. It was a real thing that had happened. “Mila,” she said, “Did Oliver, uh, tell you anything about any of this?” She waved vaguely at the room and the bed that was now as tidy as a young maiden. There were flower petals scattered over its surface. How had that happened?

“No, angela,” Mila said. “He only said we were to make sure you have everything you need.” A smile came over her face. “Well, he also said not to blame you if you were cross with him, that you had your reasons. But we knew he must be joking because how could anyone be cross with Angel Oliver? He’s so comely and fine, and he’s working so hard to protect us.” Mila crossed back to Felicity and gave her soup a meaningful look. “All of it, then,” she said. Felicity dragged her spoon across the bottom of the bowl and then ate the remaining bit of bread. She felt better with something in her stomach.

“You don’t have to hurry with the wine, though,” Mila said. “I’ll bring up the rest of the bottle even, since it’s your bridal night. You’ll put it good use, I’m sure.” She walked over the door and began pulling in boxes from the landing by the stairs. “Your things came from Ogon. Would you like me to lay out a nightgown for you? Brush your hair?”

Felicity stared at her.

Mila sorted through Donna’s cedarwood box and pulled out a very thin linen robe. It unfurled like a flag, the nightdress of an angel’s lover, dyed red and cunningly embroidered with yellow floss in designs of moons and ears of grain. Felicity had never seen it outside the box. “Oh, now this is lovely,” Mila said. “Would you like help putting it on?”

“N-no, thank you,” Felicity said. She began bringing in other crates. Here were the things from her room, including the small doll her mother had sewn for her years ago and the candle holders for Matka’s little shrine. They were neatly packed so that nothing would break, and she was grateful to have such a thoughtful friend in Kalina.

“Angel Oliver has been out in the square training with the young angels and Darek all day.  Voda sent angels over to observe too. I don’t think your angel’s slept a wink in several nights, and he can’t keep working like this. You’ll be doing him and all of us a favor when you make him sleep tonight.”

“When I make him sleep…” Felicity said. “How am I supposed to do that? He’s an _angel_ and the clan leader of Zemlya. I can’t make him do anything.”

Mila gave her a sly look. “It’s a wife’s gift, making them sleep, and I promise you it won’t be a bit more work. Just put on that pretty thing and give him the wine. The rest will take care of itself. He’ll nod off like a baby after and get a good night’s rest.”

“After,” Felicity said, and she felt a rush of blood to her head. She went and took the red robe out of Mila’s hands and shoved it back in the box. Then she picked up her tray with its dirty dishes and walked to the door. “Mila,” she said. “Do you think you could show me the rest of the house? I think I should begin to learn my new home.”

“Now?” Mila asked. “But it’s near nighttime and beginning to get dark. Angel Oliver will be coming back.”

“Now,” Felicity said. “Let’s start at the very bottom of the house and work our way up. I want to meet everyone here -- absolutely everyone -- even the girl who put mint in the soup.” With any luck after all that, Oliver would have forgotten she even existed, or the Skalvians would have taken them and put them in the soup pot. Or both.

  


>>\--->

  


Oliver’s midnight claiming had made Tommy an unwanted presence in his father’s house, no matter how much he insisted to Malcolm he’d had no idea what Oliver had been planning. So Tommy did what he had often done in times like these -- he made himself scarce and headed for Zemlya. He was more than familiar with Oliver’s house, although these days it was crowded with strangers. Children dashed in and out of Moira’s lacquered red doors all day long. At night there was still room on the floor for angels with temporary lodging difficulties, but Oliver put him to work for his room and board.

Tasked with two problems to solve that day, Tommy flew back to his father’s house in Ogon. Oliver was concerned with the readiness of the castle -- in any and all of the quarters -- so he asked Tommy if he would speak to the leaders of his clan. Tommy knew this meant Malcolm and, if Malcolm didn’t listen, anyone else who might.

There was also the issue of the baby angel he and Oliver had found in that ruined village. Because of the path the Skalvians had traveled reaching Zvyozda, Zemlya had more than its share of refugees, including orphaned children. The women in charge of maintaining the life and health of the Zemlyans tried to meet the needs of everyone, but Tommy knew this infant would get better care in the women’s apartments in Ogon, especially if he passed off the child as his own.

This likely would not be as difficult since the girl resembled him so closely with her round blue eyes, long lashes, and wispy black curls. When he’d first pulled back her blanket and looked at her face, Tommy had wondered if he were actually her father, but he hadn’t found anyone he knew amongst the piled bodies in that nameless place. Still, it wasn’t impossible, just unlikely. None of the village girls he had bedded would hide an angel baby away from him, would they? That would make no sense. Producing an angel child was the most direct route from the village to the towers of Zvyozda for any peasant girl.

Since she had no one left to tell him her name, Tommy had called the child Ava -- because the name was as small and pretty as she was. He held on to her carefully as he landed on the front steps of his family’s house, but she wasn’t frightened and she didn’t cry. She only looked around curiously; her round eyes rounder and her neck craning around the barrier made by his shoulder and wings. She frowned as he opened the front door and entered the cooler, dimmer front hall. Inside the dying sunlight streamed in the narrow windows, bounced off the marble floor, and splashed against the walls.

Tommy had never liked this house. It was too formal, too cold in both its design and inhabitants. He much preferred his next destination, the women’s apartments. He had spent much of his childhood there with his cousins and his baba. Those rooms were not nearly so elegant as these, but they were open and warm, and he could relax there.

Of course, now that he was grown up and two of the women and two of the children in the women’s apartments were his responsibility, the atmosphere was different. Ziva and Milusa had stopped being threatened by each other awhile ago, and he strongly suspected they were working together against him now. His children were human, too. Malcolm didn’t approve of this arrangement, but Tommy needed them nearby so that he could see them every day and make sure they were being cared for adequately. He wasn’t drawn to women for their maternal skills, sadly.

Ava began to fuss, and Tommy looked down at her. The little rag Mila had given her to suck on had fallen out of her mouth and to the floor. She wriggled in his arms and flapped her tiny wings as her face tightened and began to redden. Tommy caught her tightly around her middle and then remembered to support her neck. As he juggled the baby, he flicked a finger at the rag, and it flew into his hand.

“Still performing your little tricks, Tommy?” a voice to his right asked. With some effort, Tommy kept himself from startling. He turned to see Malcolm stepping from his room and pulling the door closed behind him. He was elegantly dressed in a tunic of ash gray silk, but his eyes were red rimmed and tired.

“Isn’t that what you wanted from me, Father?” he asked. “More magic?”

“I wanted _better_ magic from you,” Malcolm said. “Not simple trickery.”

“It’s not trickery if you can actually summon objects and make them appear and disappear,” Tommy said.

When his body had begun to mature into manhood, it had become apparent that Tommy had some innate magical talent. Angels were magic. If you believed the legends, and Tommy had no reason not to, the reason angels existed was because some long-ago ruler had needed a weapon that could prevent an unstoppable army from reaching his kingdom. Angels were the result: humans transformed by magic to be deadly powerful.

Unfortunately, in replication that magic tended to be evaporative. Angels could make and bear other angels, but more often than not their children were human. As magical beings, most angels could perform some minor magic as well, but it was the rare child born who was both fully angelic and strongly magical. Malcolm was one of these, and he had wanted his son to be too.

Malcolm lifted an eyebrow curiously. “And who is this?” he asked, gesturing to Ava, who was pushing the rag out from her mouth again with her small tongue.

“She is someone I’m concerned for, but you needn’t be,” Tommy said. It was important to get this right, for the baby’s sake. In his experience, you didn’t ask for something, if you wanted it from Malcolm, because the control involved in bestowing a gift was so short lived. Unsatisfying. “I’m bringing her to the apartments to be cared for with Svetka and Vova.”

His father reached out a hand and touched the baby’s face. Miraculously, she stopped fussing and lifted her thick black lashes so she could gaze at Malcolm. Her wings fluttered gently. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and something in Malcolm’s face softened fractionally. “An angel baby,” he said. “She’s yours obviously. Where did she come from? Tell me now.”  

Tommy clenched his jaw. “I met her mother fleeing from the Skalvians when I flew out with Oliver to survey. She pushed Ava at me and told me to take her to safety.”

“She’s in Zvyozda now?” Malcolm asked.

“No, when I flew back, she and everyone in her group were dead.”

Malcolm merely nodded. “Did you know you had another child?”

Tommy answered honestly, “No.”

“Well, it appears you’ve finally done what I’d given up on: you’ve produced something of value.” Malcolm reached out and pulled the baby from Tommy’s arms, and before he could object, Malcolm cradled her in his own and smiled down at her. “Aren’t you darling? You look like your grandmother.” He said to Tommy, “We’ll ready the nursery, of course, and I’ll send for a wet nurse. It shouldn’t be hard to get a girl willing to trade her milk for a larger ration.”

“I was going to give her to Ziva,” Tommy said, realizing he’d been too convincing. “She hasn’t weaned Vova yet.”

“Is Ziva the sullen one or the empty headed one?” Malcolm asked. “It doesn’t matter. No, I learned my lesson from your childhood, Tommy. Angels belong with their own kind. She’ll stay in the house. Does she have a name?”

“Ava,” Tommy said. “I’ve called her Ava.”

“An unremarkable choice. We’ll address that later.” He turned and called to the back of the house, “Zora, come! I need you to clean out the rooms upstairs.”

Tommy managed to keep his smile to himself. He would not let Malcolm have Ava, but she would be safe and cared for here. Seeing his father smiling down at the child, he decided to broach the other matter. “Father,” he said, “Oliver sent me to remind you to have the Ogon clan members thoroughly clean themselves and the quarter to help stave off camp fever.”  

Malcolm looked up from the baby. She was patting at the dimple in his chin. “Angels aren’t susceptible to camp fever,” he said.

“Oliver says that’s not true,” Tommy said. “Besides, humans are, and they die in great numbers when they get it. Your people need you to guide them so they can survive this.”

“Why?” Malcolm asked. “They’ll get it or they won’t get it, but the other choice is starvation since we can’t hope to hold off the Skalvians. Disease is quicker.”

Tommy stared at his father. “You think they’re all going to die? That we’re all going to die?”

“We’re not going to die,” Malcolm said, “because we can fly from here, but the humans can’t, and we can’t transport them in great enough numbers to make a difference. Our choices are hold the castle or flee.”

Tommy could feel his mouth working, opening and closing. “You think we’re doomed? But you weren’t worried before. Can’t you just do what you did last time?” A memory surfaced, of the white and dessicated Malcolm who had lain limp in his rooms for weeks after the Skalvians’ last defeat, of his mother’s voice saying, “You should be proud of him, Tommy. Your father saved Zvyozda and all of us.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “What I did before?”

“I remember you, after the barrier fell. You were close to death. Mother told me you saved us.” He swallowed as he saw his father’s face harden. “Don’t worry. I never told anyone. I _can_ keep a secret.” In that at least, he was his father’s true son.

Malcolm remained silent for a moment and then exhaled. He put the baby up against his shoulder held her there with his large hand. “Unfortunately, I no longer have the resources for that solution.”

“The resources? Because of the blockade? We can send angels out to get whatever you need. Oliver already has them searching the countryside at night.”

“What are you talking about? Herbs?” Malcolm asked. “You can’t barricade a city full of people with flowers and roots. No, this was blood magic. It required at least two powerful magicians, and the blood had to be theirs, given voluntarily. In quantity.”

“The other wizard--”

“Magician, Tommy. How many times do we have to have this conversation? The local rabble may call them wizards, but we do not.”

Tommy took a deep breath. “The other magician is dead, then?”

“Not dead,” Malcolm said. “Just gone. Very definitely gone, and I can’t do the spell again without him.”

The events of the past few days replayed themselves in Tommy’s head, and he saw things differently now. Waves of both relief and dread washed over him. “You’re talking about Adalbert,” he said.

“Yes,” Malcolm said. “I’m talking about Adalbert.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adalbert! Everyone's favorite librarian...and magician? 
> 
> I'm still at work writing this story, finishing up Chapter 14 this weekend, but I'm taking it slower as I have to sort out all of my characters' back stories and motivations. Your patience is appreciated, and your comments literally inspire me to write more. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Garden of Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy confronts his father, and the Skalvians stage a display of their intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to devoted reader melicitysmoak - Happy Birthday!

Tommy had something of a more involved history with Adalbert than most people or angels suspected. They both had abilities, and they both kept them secret. What Adalbert’s magic was, Tommy wasn’t entirely sure, but he knew it was powerful, and he knew Adalbert was ashamed of it. Adalbert was so ashamed that he’d allowed himself to be kept as a slave for years rather than use it. To Tommy’s mind, this meant whatever his magic was, it must be terrible.

Tommy’s magic wasn’t terrible; it just wasn’t that useful to him personally. His talent was what was commonly referred to as thieves magic. Anything involving hiding, secreting, or taking something he could do with little effort at all. He could fade into the walls and make himself unseen. He could unlock bolts and complex locks. He could summon objects from across the room or just make them appear out of nowhere. Tommy was the son of one of the richest men in the eastern empire, however, so this was hardly useful stuff. When you could demand something and have it given to you immediately, why would you ever need to steal it? The irony of this was certainly not lost on him.

Regardless of utility, Malcolm had welcomed his son’s burgeoning magical abilities because he’d believed Tommy, as his son, had a deep well of potential. Malcolm was multi-talented. He could do more than simple tricks, and he’d also studied all of the magical texts he could find. Again, this was not common knowledge. In the eastern part of the empire, the locals were superstitious and would burn a witch without an invitation. They feared strong magic. Only a few angels knew about Malcolm’s abilities, but he had a wealth of power available to use, and he cultivated it carefully.  

When Tommy’s magic began to present itself, Malcolm had attempted to train his son, but the two of them were incompatible in any sort of teacher/student arrangement. Malcolm was impatient, and Tommy grew tired of not meeting his father’s expectations. After a few short weeks, he began to fail deliberately; it saved time.

So Malcolm had compelled Adalbert to teach Tommy instead. Tommy didn’t know how, but he suspected it had been unpleasant. Adalbert had been a better teacher, mostly because he’d had far fewer expectations. Adalbert didn’t like angels, but Tommy didn’t take this personally. He didn’t think Adalbert liked humans that much either. It’s just that humans couldn’t coerce him into doing things he’d rather not do -- such as teaching Tommy to use magic.

The precautions Adalbert had taken in order to make sure their lessons were safe had confused Tommy, but he’d responded to Adalbert’s methodical and exhaustive coverage of the magical resources available in Zvyozda’s library. It was certainly better than the black looks and loud sighs he’d gotten from his father.

After about six months of instruction, however, Tommy had read most of the resources Adalbert would share with him and had hit a wall in developing his own magic. Thieves magic doesn’t appreciate an audience; it negates the purpose. Tommy discovered he could only perform on his own, away from his teacher; the magic thwarted him otherwise. He and Adalbert had mutually agreed to stop the lessons and to take whatever punishment Malcolm would dispense. Tommy had endured his beating stoically. He didn’t care to think about how his father penalized Adalbert; Adalbert had told him not to be concerned. Now, after all of this time, Tommy wondered what that punishment had been and felt a chill go through him.

“Is Felicity my sister?” Tommy asked aloud. His voice startled the baby in Malcolm’s arms.

Malcolm drew back, his eyebrows raising. “What?”

“Felicity. Is she your daughter? She is, isn’t she?”

Malcolm patted Ava on her back and gave a small smile. “She is.”

Tommy’s heart sank. “All of these years I’ve had a sibling, and I didn’t even know her.”

Something flitted across his father’s face. It looked like regret. It didn’t settle, but left immediately to find some place more appropriate, probably, on the face of someone who felt emotion.

“Why did you abandon her?” Tommy asked. He reached out and took Ava back in one motion. The baby began to fuss, and Tommy pressed her to his chest.

“I didn’t,” Malcolm said. “Donna was difficult. She refused what I offered and eventually married Adalbert. After that, I was...unnecessary.”

“Was _I_ unnecessary?”

“What do you mean? Of course not. I’ve always taken care of you,” Malcolm said.

“I meant _to Felicity_. Maybe she would have liked having a brother. Maybe I’d have liked having a sister... at least _knowing_ I had a sister.” He cuddled Ava against his chest.

“You’re being dramatic, Tommy. What does it matter? You know now. If you want to get to know her, you’re free to do so.”

Tommy lifted a hand at his father. “Free to do so? What, in the few weeks that remain to us before we’re all slaughtered by the Skalvians?” A thought occurred to him. “Is this why you wanted her? What can she do? At that midnight meeting you were on the verge of proposing we marry. You’d have me bed _my own sister_?”

The cagey look that crept into Malcolm’s eyes was more comfortable there. “There are more things at stake here than your personal life. I wasn’t going to let you consummate the marriage. As for what she can do, she can’t _do_ anything. But since both Donna and Adalbert are gone now, it seemed only appropriate to provide for her.”

“Appropriate?” Tommy gave a bitter laugh. “Since when are you concerned for anyone else’s welfare or what’s proper? No, she has some sort of strategic value to you, and I’m going to figure out what it is.” He stepped closer to Malcolm, looking up. “It’s lost to you, though, isn’t it? Whatever it is, Oliver has it now. That must be hard for you, being outmaneuvered by someone. Oliver’s not even interested in power.”

“Everyone’s interested in power, Tommy. Don’t be naive,” Malcolm said dismissively.

“That may be true,” Tommy said. “But if you don’t stop these Skalvians, _Father,_ your entire quest for control over Zvyozda will have failed. Waldhar’s been out of your way for months, but you won’t take his place. You’ll never be archangel.”

Malcolm sighed. “What would you have me do? I told you that I can’t do the spell I did before, not without another magician.”

“So you’re just giving up?” Tommy asked. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

“No, I’m not just ‘giving up.’ I’ve been reading through my resources, but I haven’t found anything yet that looks very promising.”

“Oliver’s working with the miners to dig out the deepest tunnel - the one that leads all the way through to the other side of the mountain. He says we may be able to evacuate people that way and that we might also be able to use the rubble as a weapon.”

“What else does _Oliver_ say?” Malcolm asked. “Do tell.”

“You may mock him, but the people in Zemlya appreciate his concern. They’re working together to fight and survive. I was only suggesting that you might want to consult with him or think about how to approach Ogonians to rally them.”

“I’ll let you know when I need your advice,” Malcolm said stiffly. He reached out and chucked the baby under her chin. “But I am happy about little Ava here. I’ll do what I can to make sure she will be able to claim her inheritance in Ogon.”

“You always have your eye on what’s important, don’t you, Father?” Tommy said, and with that he walked back toward the kitchen to find Zora and put the old nursery to rights.  


 

>>\--->

 

For three days the Skalvians had been content to remain busy in their encampment outside the city. The terraced construction of Castle Zvyozda made it easy for its residents to see what was happening, but for the first few days after the Skalvians’ advance they watched from the safety of their homes only. When no attack came, their natural curiosity was aroused, and they began to watch from the tops of the walls. Groups began to form. Men began to speculate as to how tough these invaders really were, and children would rush to see what was happening after school each day. Soon a consensus formed that the refugees’ stories about mass killings and burned villages had to be exaggerations. The tall men in long wool robes weren’t even wearing armor, and they didn’t carry weapons. How dangerous could they be?

Oliver knew they were dangerous, and he was dismayed to see them being treated as entertainment. Dally had been in their hands an entire day, and already the castle was settling into a kind of acceptance. It was hard to motivate his new angel recruits when they looked at the enemy as a novelty or entertainment.

The following morning the Skalvians divided themselves into smaller groups of a dozen or so. The first group swiftly felled one of the largest and most sacred oaks in the valley and dragged it to their encampment. They severed its enormous branches from the trunk and then planed them into wooden posts. Another two groups of Skalvians took the finished posts and began driving them into the ground around the castle parallel to its curved walls, about the length of an a long wagon apart. They began near the barbican, but, by the end of the long day, four hundred posts surrounded the entire wall. They were just outside of the distance an arrow could fly, but close enough for everyone in the castle to see that their tops had been shaved to points.

The last group mounted their horses in mid-morning and rode single file west towards Lake Ladoga. They made a striking image with their long white robes, long white hair, and stock straight posture, following each other at some predetermined pace and distance. At sunset they returned, and on the back of each horse was a bulky black bag that banged against its left flank with each step.

Within the castle itself everyone was talking about what all of this meant. Were the posts meant for their horses, or were the Skalvians intending to build something? Was this some strange religious ritual? Children placed bets with one another about their purpose.

The next morning the city awoke to a horror: impaled on twenty four of these posts were severed heads, mostly men’s but some women’s. Oliver knew none of them, but the people around him eventually recognized them as villagers of Kamyonka - Ogonians. Topping the one closest to the castle’s barbican was one everyone knew: Waldhar’s. Below his head, his blood-spattered wings were tied to the stake. They hung all the way to the ground and trailed two feet in the dirt. Zvyozda’s archangel had been reduced to a cautionary tale, and the castle’s people hurried back to the safety of their homes.

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity came downstairs that morning to a house in total chaos. Mila had her head out the door and was yelling out into the square. Three of the refugee children were tugging on her skirts and crying. A minute later Yaroslav came in, carrying in their granddaughter. The child  had vomited down the front of her dress.

“What’s going on?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, angela,” Mila said, “something terrible has happened. Those monsters have impaled heads on spikes all around the castle. The children saw them when they were on their way to school.” She waved a hand at her granddaughter. “Nadia collapsed. She didn’t need this. Not after everything she saw in…”

Nadia opened her eyes then and started screaming. It took all of them a half an hour to get the children settled down and in some way comforted. All that time Felicity’s mind was at the wall searching for Dally’s head from amongst those on display there.

By the time she was able to leave, the square was empty except for a woman slumped and sobbing in a doorway two houses down. Felicity walked across the cobbles, through an alleyway, and down a short flight of steps. She wanted to find the place with the clearest view in Zemlya quarter, and oddly that was not outside of Oliver’s family’s house. She supposed angels didn’t worry too much about that sort of thing when they could spring into the air at any time.

When she reached the wall, she found other people there. The ones who were wandering up and down the wall, anxiously scanning, were still in some way hopeful; the ones crying or holding their hands to their mouths were not. In another moment she would be one or the other, and now that she was here, she didn’t want to look. Her knuckle crept up to her mouth of its own accord, and Felicity chewed on it.

Finally she straightened and pulled both hands behind her back. The rows of posts ran parallel to Zvyozda’s walls in concentric circles, but the first post was embedded in the soil about a man’s stride before the others. She recognized the head atop that one right away, both his face and his wings. He’d been a celebrity in the castle, Archangel Waldhar, and now his eyes stared blankly at its barbican, his mouth slack. The two sides of his face did not match. One half smiled and the other grimaced, as if Waldhar had suffered a grievous fright before he’d died, but it hadn’t made it entirely across his face before his spirit had fled.

The rest of them she didn’t recognize. She saw no one from the village of Ryn, thanks be to Byelobog. Perhaps they were still safe and unmolested. Most of these victims were men, but there were some women. Their long hair was matted with dried blood, and it hung down in hanks obscuring the posts underneath.

Felicity made herself look slowly and carefully, person by person, head by head, so she could not miss Dally’s. She knew if she returned home without seeing him, she would ask herself over and over if she’d simply overlooked him, so she forced herself to methodically examine the grotesque scene laid out before her.

A half an hour later she knew two things: Dally’s head wasn’t there, and she was no longer herself. The very last face she had studied had been a small child’s, and she sagged against the wall, trying futilely to grip it as she slid into unconsciousness.

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity woke to a gentle bouncing. The sun was higher and hotter, and she must be in Ryn, gently bobbing on the calm waters of Lake Lebed. The waves pushed against the bottom of Dally’s small birch-bark canoe. Felicity stretched out like a cat in the sun, keeping her eyes shut and careful not to jostle the canoe too much. Dally would scold. The sun shone through her eyelids, and she saw red, but not the ugly red of the blood the Skalvians had spilled. That had been a terrible dream, and thankfully now she was waking up. She would go gather blueberries for dinner. Her mouth watered at the thought. Blueberries were her weakness.

Just a little longer for this nap, though. She was so tired, and the warmth on her face made her feel lazy and languid. She laid her head back against the side of the canoe...which was surprisingly broad, firm, and fibrous. It felt less like a canoe and more like the weave of a flax shirt. She put a hand against it and felt--Oliver.

Felicity’s eyes flew open. There was no canoe, no Lake Lebed, no gentle waves. Only Oliver’s tunic. The bouncing came from the easy beating of his wings as he carried her over the thatched roofs of Zemlya’s stone structures and back to his house.

She tried to sit up, but he tightened his grasp on her. “Wait,” he said. “We’re almost there. You fainted.”

“I didn’t,” she said. “I wouldn’t.” The evidence was against her, though. It came back to her, the feel of the stones of the wall as her hands tried and failed to find something to hold. She closed her eyes again. She’d _fainted_.

“Hey,” Oliver said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He spread his wings out as he glided down and landed neatly in front of his house. “The Skalvians know how to strike terror. Anyone would be affected.”

“You’re not,” she said, balancing her weight so her feet could be back on the ground.

He set her down carefully. “This isn’t my first siege,” he said. He held onto her arm as she steadied her legs underneath her. “When the Skalvians tortured my father, I threw up over and over. Had nightmares for months.”

Felicity frowned. Yes, that was right. The Skalvians had killed his father. And he’d seen it. He’d seen it, was that right? In that way, he was probably the only person in Zvyozda who fully understood the fear she had for Dally. “Did you see him die?” she asked and then placed a hand against his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. It doesn’t matter. Forgive me.”

“I didn’t,” Oliver said. “He told me to run away, to escape back to Zvyozda, and I did.” He averted his eyes, and Felicity got a glimpse of that boy he’d been, scared and uncertain. “He was dying when I left.”

“You did as your father wanted,” Felicity said.

“I know,” Oliver said. “As you’re doing. Don’t forget that.” He glanced back in the direction of the wall. “He’s not there, I looked.”

Felicity let out the breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding. “Why haven’t they killed him?”

“I told you, he has something they can use. And he’s sharp. Don’t lose hope.”

She nodded. He took her elbow and led her into the house. “When did you last eat?” he asked. Before she could answer, he turned his head and called, “Mila? Mila, could you come here?”

“No,” Felicity said. “She’s very burdened. Nadia fainted too. She saw her uncle and one of her cousin’s heads out there.”

Mila was already bustling towards them from the back of the house. “Yes, Angel Oliver?” she said.

“Mila, I’m sorry to have to ask you this. It’s been a terrible morning, but could you see about getting your angela something to eat? She fainted at the wall.”

Mila’s eyes scanned Felicity. “Did you find anyone you know?” she asked.

“No,” Felicity said, feeling self-conscious in the face of this woman’s losses. “My father wasn’t there. They are still driving stakes in, though. The whole valley will soon be a forest of posts.”

“Matka protect him,” Mila said. “Both of you go upstairs. I’ll have someone bring up a tray right away.”  

“The ration--” Felicity said.

“The clan leader sets the ration, and our clan leader wants you to eat,” Mila said firmly. “Go.”

Felicity turned and mounted the stairs, and Oliver followed behind her. When they reached the top floor, she pushed open the door to the bedroom and flushed. She hadn’t been in here with Oliver since she’d fallen asleep before - or at least she hadn’t been in here with him when she’d been awake. While Mila had shown her the house the first night, he’d come home and fallen asleep on his pallet. She’d crept in during the wee hours of the morning and slipped into the bed. When she’d awoken this morning, he’d already been gone.

She looked down at herself. Her yellow kirtle was filthy from the dirt she’d collapsed in. “I’ll just--” She dashed behind the screen in the corner of the room, yanked off her kirtle and pulled on a clean linen dress, one of her mother’s. Then, even though the room was warming with the morning sun, she tied a grayish blue kerchief around her neck to cover the exposed skin there. When she was finished, she carefully stepped from the enclosure and walked to the table where her brush was. She sat in the chair next to it and began pulling the brush through her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she peeked at Oliver to see what he was doing.

He hadn’t moved. He was leaning a thigh against the table in a comfortable-looking pose, but his wings behind him were alert. A subtle smile hovered on his lips.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked defensively.

“Was I smiling?” He pivoted on his heel, walked over to the washbowl, and dipped a cloth into it. He ran the cloth over his forehead and then pulled off his tunic to run it over his chest and shoulders. Felicity inhaled sharply and turned away. He was solidly muscled all over from his thick, corded arms to his firm, ridged abdomen. She’d seen his naked chest and back weeks ago in the square when he displayed to the crowd the brand the Skalvians had burned into his back That had been from far away, however, and obscured by numerous peering heads.

Now she was the only one peering. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the scattering of golden brown hair across his chest, wider above and tapering to a line that disappeared into his small linens which she could plainly view now because he was untying…

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He glanced up. “Oh, sorry,” he said and turned his back to her, lifting his wings up to cover everything except his small linens and the defined muscles of his thighs and calves, now revealed in the absence of his trousers.

Felicity turned her head away and brushed her hair harder, fifty strokes on each side as her mother had instructed her to do when she was a small girl. Donna had known how to take care of her hair. Of course, Donna had known how to take care of a man as well--an angel, even. The woman who had worn the carefully cut, diaphanous scarlet robe in the cedarwood box would not be studying the stubbed nail of her big toe, as Felicity was doing right now.

Felicity was a little unclear on what Donna would have done in this situation, but she knew it wasn’t that.

Oliver twisted as he straightened, grunting, and Felicity saw the violet bruise on his lower back as he reached for his tunic on the wall peg. “That looks like it hurts,” she said.

“Alaric hit me in the side with a sword during practice last night,” Oliver said. “I’ve had worse, much worse. Although today if we manage to get anything done, I’ll probably focus on other duties besides training. Darek can handle that. He’s very capable.”

“Will you introduce me to Darek?” Felicity asked. “Everyone in your house is talking about him, about how he’s the only one to survive from South Karelia.”

“The only one from his fighting force, yes,” Oliver said. “From the path the Skalvians took through our lands, it’s unlikely they killed wholesale. They seem to prefer terrorizing villages at random and then moving on.”

“How bad is it?” Felicity asked, thinking again of Ryn and her neighbors there.

“Not good,” Oliver said. He laid the cloth down and pulled on a new tunic, and she could look at him again. “But the angels I sent out have managed to gather quite a lot of supplies in a short period of time. If the Skalvians continue to sit at the foot of the castle, we may send out teams of people with them to thresh and gather the wheat. The Skalvians seem to have no interest in it.”

“What do they eat?”

“I’ve never seen them eat anything,” Oliver said, “not even when they held me captive. The pattern I saw when I flew south was burned buildings and dead bodies, but no foraging or requisitioning. They left all of the animals to roam. Every twenty versts or so they leave behind a circle of lifeless ground. It’s almost as if…” He frowned and grabbed his trousers.

“As if?”

“It’s almost as if they feed on destruction,” he said. “I know that sounds ridiculous. They have to eat to live, and perhaps they carry their own supplies. But something strange is at work here. How much of those Skalvian texts have you read?”

“Some of the easier ones,” Felicity said. “I’m still unfamiliar with more complex language and only know the simpler words, but, fortunately, the structure seems to be roots, prefixes and suffixes, and I should be able to decipher more of the meaning, even without full fluency.”

“Can you focus all of your efforts on that? Find out how they live and, if possible, what the source of their incredible strength is. If we discover that, it may be possible to fight them.”

Felicity nodded and put down her brush. “Mila told me what you said.”

Oliver lifted his eyebrows.

“About me being angry with you perhaps. About it being alright.” She looked him in the eye. “That was thoughtful of you.”

That same tiny smile flitted around the edges of Oliver’s mouth. “Yes, well,” he said, “it would also be fine if you weren’t angry at me.”

“We’ll see,” she said, as she began to braid her hair into one thick plait. A part of her felt hopeful, though. She couldn’t deny it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I upped the stakes here, although I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone that the Skalvians are evil. I also drew back the curtain on Adalbert's backstory a tiny bit. Oh, yes. He does have one. I could write a whole story just about him, but I don't know if anyone would read it. 
> 
> That's not true. Felicity would, and she'd be surprised at some of the stuff that would be in there. :)
> 
> As usual, comments are appreciated, and if you have questions about what's going on, feel free to ask.


	4. Angel Troubles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Skalvians latest display of violence does not go according to plan. Meanwhile, Felicity skirmishes with new opponents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May I present this, an extra chapter, to you, dear readers? I pushed through what was blocking me last weekend, so here is this one a little bit early.

The man Darek was an unexpected source of aid to Oliver. He was an untiring warrior with a very broad set of fighting skills. The next day Oliver began using him as a sparring partner to show the angels what was possible and what they should be working towards. He was used to fighting humans from his work in the Angel Corps. He wasn’t used to being worn down by them though. In that, Darek was unusual. Swords, spears, clubs - Darek could hold his own with all of them. He was an excellent marksman with a bow as well, and he could fight hand to hand.

“What are you?” Oliver finally asked him after two exhausting days of demonstrating fighting techniques.

Darek smiled, and his teeth gleamed white in his sunburned face. The late summer sun glared off his skin. They were both sweating buckets. “I’m a Taifalian,” he said. “A mercenary.”

That explained it. The Taifalian warriors were legendary throughout the known world. As mercenaries, they demanded a heavy payment for their skill in battle, but any ruler who could afford them was glad to pay it. Some said they could not be killed, but Oliver knew that wasn’t true. They were just very, very good at what they did. They had to be. Three different empires had tried to conquer their people, and three different empires had failed because the Taifalians trained from infancy to maintain their independence.

“So you sleep with your--”

“With my sword?” Darek said. “Yes.”

Oliver didn’t know what to say to that, so he asked something different. “You were in Karelia on your own?”

Darek’s face tightened. “I was with my company,” he said. “We were attached to a regiment of the Angel Corps in Sarmatia, on the borderlands, when the Skalvians invaded Karelia. The local archangel sent us in to investigate.”

“Your company was mixed?”

Darek shook his head. “All from Taifalia. Fifty of us.”

“Along with one regiment of angels? Where are they now?”

“They’re all dead,” Darek said. “All of them but me. My brother was also killed.”

“ _All_ of them?” That was unthinkable.

Darek looked over his shoulders at the Skalvians below. “They’re not human. If they have a weakness, I don’t know what it is.”

A yell came from one of the angels watching from the wall. “They’re doing something!”

Oliver walked over to the wall and shielded his eyes from the sun. An older couple and a young girl emerged from the Skalvian encampment walking in a line with their arms tied with ropes behind them. The Skalvians led them out and then tied each of them individually to a post. Immediately the elderly man began to struggle against his ropes. The old woman sagged against hers, and the small girl began to cry. Oliver began to have a foreboding feeling about how this was going to go.

Barry and Tommy came to stand next to Darek and Oliver. “What should we do?” Barry asked.

“No one do anything,” Oliver said in a loud voice. “These Skalvians are deadly, and we do not yet know how to fight them.”

The white figures below lined up in concentric circles around the old man. One of them stood out from the others, dressed in a robe of gold intricately embroidered with a black dragon. He took his place next to the victim and raised a long, curved sword above his head. All of the Skalvians together made a blood-curdling shriek, and the old man’s head was lopped off and dropped to the ground. His body fell, blood spurting from his neck, and it soaked the earth underneath him. The girl screamed and yanked hard on her ropes, and the old woman began to plead.

“Please, someone, anyone! Save my granddaughter from these demons! Look how young she is! She doesn’t deserve to die like this!” She turned to the girl as the Skalvians began to reform their circles around her. “Sveta, look away!”

“Baba,” Sveta cried, tears streaming down her face. “Baba, don’t go! Don’t leave me!” She turned to stare at the castle walls. “Help us!”

“I can’t watch this,” Tommy said and stalked off. Barry looked stricken.

“Shouldn’t we…” Barry said, but he was interrupted by the sound of wings beating. Alaric, an angel from Voda, flew down from the wall with his bow in hand. He soared toward the Skalvian who was holding a sword above the woman. When he had nearly reached her, he released two arrows in quick succession. A cheer went up from the angels on the wall as the arrows hit the Skalvian in the face and neck…then bounced off his skin and fell to the ground.

Alaric attempted to reverse course in the air when he saw what had happened, still firing arrows, this time more desperately. Unfortunately, the only one Alaric sank hit the old woman in the stomach. She doubled over in pain. The Skalvian nearest Alaric hurled his sword, impaling Alaric through his gut. He doubled over in the air and crashed into the center of the circle at the feet of the Skalvians. The white-robed man above him beheaded him immediately.

The angels at the wall gasped and recoiled. The Skalvian in the gold robe strode over, lifted Alaric’s head by his hair, and held it aloft. “Surrender now, Zvyozda,” he yelled in heavily accented Slavonic, “else we will fill the valley with flowers made from your heads.” The people on the wall reflexively made the sign of Byelobog and shrank away from both the Skalvian’s words and the gory scene. Oliver’s focus never left the Skalvians. He watched carefully for any sign of vulnerability.

The older woman was whimpering, and the golden-robed Skalvian waved a hand towards her. The Skalvian nearest her slammed his sword through her neck and into the post. With dread,  Oliver looked over to the little girl to see how she was reacting to the bloodbath in front of her, but she was no longer there. The knot tying her hands had been severed from the part of the rope that had tied to her stake. It swung back and forth and then slowly came to a stop.

The Skalvians seemed to notice her absence at the same time because they began to gesture towards the post and argue in their own tongue among themselves. Their leader dropped Alaric’s head and stalked to the post. He lifted the severed rope, and demanded something of his men. None of them answered. He gestured more furiously, but the other Skalvians only looked confused.

The Skalvian display had to finish on this anticlimactic note. Oliver could tell the gold-robed Skalvian didn’t appreciate his terror play being cut short. He made a jerk with his arm, and three of his men picked the heads up from the ground and went to stick them onto empty posts.

Meanwhile, the others walked around in strange circles examining the ground. None of their actions yielded any result. The little girl had disappeared as if into thin air.

  


>>\--->

 

  
Felicity’s quest to uncover any weakness the Skalvians had was stymied almost immediately by the unexpected responsibilities she now had as Oliver’s wife. While she was still breakfasting on the second day in his house, her first visitors had arrived: high-ranking angelas who were curious about the sudden power shifts that had occurred right under their noses. Terror and beheadings were apparently no impediment to reestablishing the angels’ proper social hierarchy.

One of these was Audovera, sister of Aregund, Waldhar’s wife and Zvyozda’s former angelitsa. She called on Felicity that day and the next, and then the next. She must have spread word that the door of the new clan leader’s angela was open.  Every day there were more visitors, despite - perhaps even because of - what the Skalvians were doing. Waldhar’s sad plight and what his family might do now had been discussed at length until Aregund had made her appearance. Felicity was stuck for hours listening to Audovera discuss how her husband, Corbus, _had wanted_ to help Zemlya after Waldhar had ascended to Archangel, but he hadn’t known how best to go about it. Felicity thought back to that sun-baked day when Oliver, a complete unknown, had stood in the square and announced what would be done now to help Zemlyans. She was unimpressed with Corbus. And Audovera.

Felicity knew they were not overly impressed with her either. She was unfamiliar with the manners and refinements of angels, and she found them confusing and tedious. Refreshments were not served in Oliver’s house during calling hours because of the rationing, but chai was not yet restricted. Angels did not drink chai from cups, however; they sipped it from tiny silver goblets. This meant those goblets had to be located and polished, and someone had to be available to refill glasses anytime Felicity was receiving. Reluctantly, she asked Mila if anyone in her family would be willing to help serve refreshments during the morning hours, and, fortunately, Nadia was eager to return the help that Felicity had given her the day before. She was old enough, at twelve, to help pour chai, even if her hands sometimes shook from the combined stress of the siege and the angelas’ regard.

Then there was Felicity’s wardrobe. Mila had unpacked all of Donna’s silks and linens and had carefully ironed and freshened them. On the first morning of calls, the angels caught Felicity unawares in her everyday woolen kirtle.  The second day, however, she donned her mother’s pale blue silk dress, vented and high-waisted, and Dobra assisted her in putting her hair up in thick braids. The current fashion in angelic circles was a hairstyle clipped closely to the skull and then curled with tongs to create a windblown aesthetic, but Felicity’s hair was well past her waist, and she refused to cut it. She and Mila decided the next best thing would be braids wound tightly around her head with the ends tucked in. The pattern of braids created undulating waves that looked something like curls, Felicity thought.

It was apparent immediately that the angelas did not.

The dress was wrong too, at least ten years out of date. Felicity’s hair was childlike, ingenuous. When Audovera saw it, a malicious pleasure spread across her face, and she patted her niece, Merofled’s, hand encouragingly. Merofled, a tall, awkward angel about Felicity’s age, looked miserable but didn’t say anything.

After two days of going through the motions of endless angel etiquette, Felicity decided she would open the sitting room in Zemlya House for an hour each day _and only for that hour_ to any angels who cared to come. She set the time for late morning to accommodate their lengthy dressing rituals. The next morning she came downstairs, and Mila pulled her aside to introduce Sara, one of the women the Zemlya council had appointed to handle women and children’s issues among the refugees.

“Sara has been making sure they are placed with families who will treat them compassionately and that they have what they need,” Mila said, giving her a meaningful look. Felicity took that to mean she’d been in the house before and had worked with some of Oliver’s new guests.

Felicity smiled at Sara. “Thank you,” she said. “If there is anything I can do to help--”

“Actually, there is something,” Sara said. “I’ve heard you are opening your front room daily to entertain the angels’ wives.”

“That’s not exactly what--”

“I was wondering if you might consider offering the women of the quarter the same privilege and if you might schedule their time before the angels’ calling hour.”

Felicity took a step back to take a look at this woman. She had an intensity about her that leant her a greater presence than her petite frame would suggest. “Before? I can certainly offer them the opportunity to visit, but is early morning the best time?”

“It’s not so much the time that matters, it’s that it coincides in some way with when the angelas come,” Sara said. “It will give them the opportunity to hear about regular people’s struggles that would otherwise be easy for them to ignore.” Sara glanced into the sitting room. “Some of them might be inspired to help, and there are people here who could really use it. If we can somehow arrange it so they have to listen--”

Felicity put a hand on her arm. “I’m late right now, and the angelas are so fastidious about the seating arrangements and who can sit when. Will you join me? Or you can wait here if you’d like. I can discuss this more with you when this is over.” She began to push the door to the sitting room open when she heard Audovera’s voice.

“How does he even know her? He’s been back in Zvyozda for only a few weeks, and he claims her in front of the entire council?”

“She must have _talents_ we don’t know about,” another voice said. Titters followed this.

Audovera laughed more bitterly. “Well, she is the daughter of the Red Dress, so she comes by those naturally.”

“The Red Dress. Oh, yes - the woman who made Malcolm dance to her tune all those years ago.” This was Aregund. She had an artificial way of trilling her Rs that gave her away.

“Not forever, though,” Audovera said. “His wife flapped her wings hard, and he came crawling back.”

“That doesn’t sound like Malcolm. He always lands on his feet, and the Red Dress was only a human.”

“Human women are the worst. They’re like animals, really. They can barely keep their _appetites_ in check. I’m sure that’s a large part of the appeal.”

Felicity’s hand froze on the door, and she closed her eyes. The Red Dress. These women had had a name for her mother, and they were still using it even now. How could she go in there? How could she calmly pour them chai and listen to them complain about the crowding in the streets? Why was she hosting these angelas every day in her front room when all she should be doing was decoding the texts so she could get Dally back? Angry words on the tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth. She tried to remember Dally’s adage: “A closed mouth makes no enemies,” but tears formed in the corners of her eyes. She reached up her free hand to swipe at them.

The door under her other hand gave way. Felicity opened her eyes to see if she’d pushed it accidentally, but she saw that it was Sara’s hand. She’d planted it next to Felicity’s and was now shoving it open with enough force that the four angelas by the door had to jump back to avoid getting hit with it.

“I’m sorry,” Sara said, not sounding sorry at all. “Did I hurt you?” Sara glared at them, and three of them dropped their eyes. Audovera simply stared at her with disdain. She was a tall woman, gaunt, and she wore high-heeled slippers, likely so that she’d appear even more intimidating.

“This social gathering is for angels only,” Audovera said, looking at Felicity. “That was my understanding, at least.”

“That’s very interesting,” Sara said. “What would angels have to discuss that humans couldn’t comprehend? Flight patterns? Feather fashion? How to shield your sons from justice?”

Aregund gasped. “Who is this rude woman?” she asked. “Felicity?”

Felicity turned to Sara and opened her mouth to say something, but Sara shook her head. “I have work that needs to be done. Will you consider my request? I will talk to you more about this later.” She gave Felicity a quick smile and everyone else a cool look, and then she walked out the door again.

Looking around and seeing the now shocked faces of these high-ranking angels, Felicity’s heart sank. She dreaded getting through the next hour and wished Sara hadn’t done such a fine job of offending everyone in the room, even if her intentions had been good. “Shall we begin then?” she asked in a quiet voice. She walked to the end of the room, placed herself in front of her chair and sat down.

  


>>\--->  
  


 

All around Oliver, people were talking about the missing girl and what could have happened to her.

“It was magic,” a man behind him said. “It had to be.” Oliver recognized him as Goran from Zemlya’s newly formed clan council. Oliver had sat through several long meetings with him. The man had the tendency to come to rash conclusions on a variety of issues and insist that he was right. He also wasn’t very happy to work with angels - which was unfortunate for someone in his position at this point in Zvyozda’s history.

“Skalvian magic?” Another man asked.

“No,” Darek said decisively. “They were just as confused about what happened as we were. Didn’t you see them arguing and looking about?”

“Well, the girl couldn’t have been magic herself, or she wouldn’t have been there at all,” Goran said.

“What if it was angel magic?” The voice came from the back of the crowd, and it echoed through it from person to person. A woman came pushing her way through to the front. Oliver recognized the priest’s wife, Dobra, and silently groaned.

There it was, the question Oliver had been hoping to avoid. Humans accepted, more or less, the physical advantages angels had. Magic on top of those strengths, however, overbalanced the natural order, and humans were quick to take matters into their own hands when they encountered it. Since humans outnumbered angels four to one, angels had learned to keep quiet about any magical abilities they had. Mobs and riots were not uncommon in this part of the empire, and they’d burn you for the same minor magic that was considered mere amusement in Celestia.

When Oliver had shown Felicity that little trick with the fire, it had been a small test to see both if she would accept him, and how much magic she’d been exposed to by Adalbert. Not much, it appeared, which was interesting given Adalbert’s knowledge.

“It wasn’t angel magic,” Oliver said loudly, though he wasn’t convinced of that.

“How do you know?” Goran asked.

“Did you see any angels out there? Have any of us gone missing?” Oliver asked.

“How are we supposed to know?” Dobra asked. Her husband had been outspoken lately on the angels’ lack of observance of important rites and devotions.

Oliver took another tack. “Did you want to see the girl die?”

That calmed them down a little. There were already three new heads on posts down below them. No one wanted a child’s head added to the Skalvian’s grisly collection.

“Maybe she ran,” a woman said. Oliver didn’t recognize her.

“Ran where?” Goran asked. “It’s an open plain.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Oliver said. “In the meantime, it’s best not to jump to conclusions, certainly not about magic.”

“It’s over now,” Darek said. “Everyone go home and try to stop any panic from spreading.” The crowd gave a halfhearted effort at grumbling, but it was clear that the murder of the poor couple and Alaric had shaken them enough to want to regroup. After a few minutes, they began to wander off in all directions.

Oliver gave him an appreciative look. The older warrior was becoming a real asset to him. “Thank you,” he said. “When the tunnel is open, I’ll try to get you out of here.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” Darek said. “They killed my brother and the rest of my company. I won’t walk away from that.”

Oliver nodded and shook his hand. Just then he saw Sara striding across the square towards him. She had a very intent look on her face, and Oliver knew from experience that the upcoming conversation would not be enjoyable. When she reached him, she poked her finger into his arm.

“Do you know where your wife is, Ollie?” she asked.

“My wife?” Oliver said.

“Yes, your wife,” Sara said. “Isn’t that how you think of her? It seems more respectful than any of the other options one might use after claiming a woman.” She gave him a narrowed eyed look. “Why exactly did you do that?”

He pulled her finger from his arm and held it away from his body. “I had my reasons.”

“I’m sure you did,” Sara said. “I would think, though, that an angel who’s just become clan leader wouldn’t have to go digging through the forest litter for a bride.”

“Sara,” Oliver said. “Watch your tongue. Felicity isn’t forest litter and--” He saw the glimmer of satisfaction in her face. “And you’re just baiting me.”

She pulled her hand from his and gestured back to his house. “Maybe I am, but maybe you deserve it. Did you think for a minute before you left the poor girl with that group of harpies?”

Oliver put his hands to his temples and looked at the sky. He saw that Darek was watching the pair of them closely with an expression of disbelief on his face. “Harpies?” Oliver finally asked.

She opened her mouth to answer when a voice cried out, “Sara!” It was Tommy. Sara turned to look at him and her shoulders relaxed fractionally.

“Tommy,” she said. “I heard you’re back to being Oliver’s shadow. Some things never change.”

Tommy beamed and threw an arm around her neck. “It’s been a long time, Mouse,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “Too long.” She rolled her eyes, but when he let her go, her expression grew serious.

“Not since before last summer,” she said. “I never even saw you at Ladoga last year.”

Tommy ducked his head. “I couldn’t fly. Because of the incident.”

Oliver was confused. “Incident? What incident?” he asked. “Why couldn’t you fly?”

Sara gave Tommy a look of fond exasperation. “Because he’s an idiot.”

“Pardon me,” Tommy said. “I was trying to help.”

“How does you getting your wing broken by angel goons help?”

“I _told_ you I didn’t have any sway with the angel court,” Tommy said. “And then I went to my father to see what he could do--”

“And he did nothing because it wasn’t his problem,” Sara said.

“Did nothing about what?” Oliver asked and then remembered. “The rapes.”

“Yes,” Sara said. “The rapes.” She wrapped her arm around Tommy’s waist. “So this dimwit decided that going after my attacker directly would be the next best course.”

Oliver stared at her. “ _Your_ attacker,” he said. He had a flash of the Sara he’d met that night in The Three Owls, how she’d talked of seething hatred and open rebellion while she clenched her fingers into the carved wooden arms of his father’s chair. He closed his eyes. She’d been raped. Of course she been raped. She’d always been a hoyden, running around with the boys, skinning her knees and grubbing in the dirt with the best of them, but she’d never been violent before. The Sara he’d left in Zvyozda wouldn’t have known what demon venom was, let alone where to get it or how to use it. He opened his eyes.

“You knew I was…” Sara said, pulling away from Tommy. “Oliver, you knew, right? You can’t be that dense. Why did you think I was there that night? Why did you think I insisted on seeing that girl home?”

Oliver slowly shook his head. “I didn’t want to know,” he said as he felt the flush of heat run up his throat and into his face. He swallowed and asked, “Who was it? Tell me who it was.”

Sara stepped back. “No,” she said.

“No?” Oliver glared at her. “What do you mean? Tell me _who it was_. I’ll take care of him. He’ll never do it again.”

“No,” Sara said again. She squared her shoulders. “We played it that way before, and Tommy got hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Oliver said. “The angels here are idle and untrained.”

“Hey,” Tommy said, but without any real anger.

Oliver pressed his lips together. “I was five years in the Angel Corps. The empire sent us wherever there was conflict. I know how to hold my own in a fight. I know how to kill.”

“And that’s why I’m not going to tell you,” Sara said. “Perhaps after all of this, if we’re still alive. But no one here has done a fraction of what you’ve accomplished for Zvyozda in the weeks you’ve been here. If you kill my attacker, the Council of Angels will turn against you or worse, and we’ll have no one to help us fight the Skalvians or survive the siege.”

“I won’t kill him then,” Oliver said. He wouldn’t. He’d just make it so that flying ape would want to die, today and all the rest of his days.

“Are you ready to take on the whole castle? All of Karelia?” Sara asked. “Because that’s the real problem. I’m not the only victim, but the leadership of Zvyozda has turned a blind eye to what happens rather than upset the angels or cause conflict between the clans. If you kill one angel, there are still many others who know they can do as they like with no repercussions.”

“Mouse--” Oliver said. He put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t ‘Mouse’ me, Ollie,” Sara said. “I’m angry that in Zvyozda your right to force yourself on me trumps my right to walk and talk and live unmolested. I do have the right to my anger, though, and I’m holding on to that. No one gave a damn about what happened to me.”

Oliver pulled his hand away as Tommy said, “That’s not exactly true, Sara. Lots of people cared, and I tried to help. I’m an angel. We’re not all bad.”

Sara sighed. “I know. I _know_.” She grabbed his hand and held it to her mouth. “It’s just what you did only made it worse, and then I had to feel bad about what happened to me and about what happened to you.”

Tommy gave a moue of chagrin. “I never said I was strategic,” he said. “Only that I cared.”

Sara reached up and petted Tommy’s wing, frowning. “How is it now?”

Tommy fluttered it gently against her face. “Good as new,” he said. “We angels are tough.”

“And Malcolm did nothing about this?” Oliver asked.

An emotion slid across Tommy’s features and was gone before Oliver could properly identify it.  Sara didn’t see it and said, “Malcolm covered it up - rather than see it start a clan war between Ogon and Veter.” She looked around at the square which was now nearly empty except for the three of them and Darek. “But I’m being very rude. Oliver, would you introduce us?”

“I’m sorry. This is Darek. Barry and I met him in a village in South Karelia. His company was attached to the Angel Corps there when the Skalvians attacked.” He waved at Sara. “This is Sara, my…”

“Conscience?” Sara suggested.

“...friend,” Oliver said.

“You must have known each other a very long time,” Darek finally said.

“She’s his milk sister,” Tommy said helpfully. “That’s how she can get away with being such a forward and disrespectful wench to angels of our stature.”

“His milk sister?” Darek said.

“Sara’s mother was my wet nurse,” Oliver said. “When I was born, she’d just lost a baby, and she helped to take care of me. She was my nanny for years.”

“When I came along, she took care of both of us,” Sara said. “Sometimes Tommy too, especially in the summers at Lake Ladoga where things are less formal, and we all used to play together. Which is why I’m not overly impressed by them. Once you’ve shared the same bath water, it’s hard to come up with the requisite fear and awe in social situations.” She grinned but then became serious again. “And speaking of social situations, we were discussing how those angelas in your house are picking apart your new wife. What are you going to do about it? And why did you marry her in the first place? Don’t tell me it’s the reason everyone says it is.”

Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it. So much had been going on, it hadn’t really occurred to him to consider what people might think of his actions. They’d been necessary, and he was Zemlya’s clan leader. But now he did wonder. “What does everyone think the reason is?”

Sara stared at him. “Are you this obtuse because you’re a male or because you’re an angel? She’s a very young, very pretty girl who up until now has only kept the library clean for her father. What do you think they’re saying?”

Oliver got it. He didn’t like it, but he got it. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Ask Tommy.”

Tommy put up his hands. “Don’t ask me,” he said. “I have no idea why you claimed her. My jaw was on the floor with everyone else’s that night. Not that I can judge, but it turns out she’s my sister, so I’d advise you to treat her right. Or you’ll have to break my other wing.”

Now it was everyone’s turn to look at Tommy. “She’s your sister?” Sara asked. Oliver raised an eyebrow. Apparently the siege was shaking free a lot of secrets in the castle. He hoped that Tommy wouldn’t interfere with what he needed Felicity to do for him. Not that he should find out, but Tommy sometimes knew things he shouldn’t have any way of knowing.

Tommy nodded. “Malcolm told me yesterday. I didn’t know, of course, when I started escorting her around. I may have a variety of experiences under my belt, but incest has never been one of them. I could kill my father. All of this time he knew, and he didn’t tell me.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Oliver said to Tommy. “I need to know what he told you.” He turned to Sara. “I claimed her because she’s important. Crucial, even. It has nothing to do with what you are - or what anyone else is - thinking, though. That’s not why.”

Sara crossed her arms. “Well, if it isn’t the reason - even if it is - you need to show her some support or you might have only her bones to pick through. You too, Tommy. It’s the least you can do for your sister.”

Oliver looked to Darek who stood there uncomfortably, not yet released from his duties. “Are we done here?”

“Yes,” Darek said. “I’ll regroup my people and resume training in the afternoon. Good luck sorting out these issues, sir.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said with a grimace and then clapped an arm on Tommy’s shoulder. “Let’s go rescue my new bride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little homage to what I imagine happened after Oliver made Felicity his executive assistant in season 2. They never went into any detail on the show, so part one of this showdown is in this chapter. 
> 
> I'm happy to reintroduce Sara as a character here and give her some more background. I got stalled on this interaction. My beta, lerayon, made me rewrite it to make it clearer and deal with the emotional repercussions better, so thank her if you enjoy it. 
> 
> I always love to hear from you, dear readers.


	5. Backbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and the angelas come to an understanding, Tommy reveals a secret, and the missing girl, Sveta, reappears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m dedicating this chapter to [sunshine0977](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshine0977/pseuds/sunshine0977) who has left me so many good comments and did not care for the angelas’ attitude in chapter 4. I hope this one is more satisfying for you. :)

Felicity knew about the different social castes occupied by those with angel blood. Of course, she did. Everyone did. In certain circles, it was all anyone ever talked about. There were those in the stratified layer, the ones with money, connections, and wings. They had the most power and set the tone of any function. Their antics kept Zvyozda supplied with gossip and - when one of them fell - cautionary tales.

Below these were angels with no money or poorer connections, and below them were those with angel blood who were, unfortunately, not angelic. Pure-blooded angel parents didn’t always succeed in having angel children, but they were territorial about their offspring, feathered or not, and tried to secure good futures for them. A wingless daughter of high-ranking angels might still marry into good circles if she came with a large enough dowry, for instance.

Things became more complex with illegitimate angel offspring. Angel babies were taken in to be raised with angels no matter who their parents were, but how high they climbed on the social ladder depended on their own abilities, charisma, good looks, or the relationships they had with other angels, especially whoever had sired or birthed them. Illegitimate human children had no guarantees. Angels could choose to extend their care and influence, but they were not judged harshly if they did not.

Below all these rungs, humans strove to make their impact and take their place in Zvyozdan society. Felicity, being the daughter of an angel’s courtesan and a freed slave, had stood on the outside of all of this maneuvering her entire life. Her parents had been largely beyond the pale. Dally had been tolerated for his abilities; Donna had been tolerated for her beauty and because she was his wife. Felicity, everyone agreed, was best overlooked. Her prettiness would see her married to a man who could provide a decent living, but that was all she could anticipate. Her background was simply too distasteful for better.

Sitting in the great hall - for that was the only room in Oliver’s house now large enough to accommodate all of her angelic visitors - Felicity wished she could still be overlooked. She perched precariously on the edge of the enormous, carved chair at the end of the room, trying to make her feet touch the floor. She could almost do it, but not quite. Fortunately, her silk skirts were long enough. They hung down and masked the gap between her feet and the floor.

Flanking her on either side were the angela elite of Zemlya. Audovera was at her immediate right, Aregund beside her, and then Aregund’s daughter, Merofled. The chairs in the room were arranged to form a long arc that allowed everyone in attendance to see and be seen, to rank and be ranked. After three days of tedious sipping, questioning, and conversing, Felicity finally understood that’s what all of these women were here to do: sort themselves out top to bottom in the new order. Where Felicity ranked in all of this was the unspoken question, and the angelas were solving it one needling query at a time.

“Will Angel Oliver be joining us today?” Audovera asked Felicity.

What was the right answer to this question? Felicity wondered. Her eyes moved to catch Merofled’s. Mero was a tall girl with round dark eyes and hair that wasn’t any one shade, but all of them, black, brown, red, and gold combined. Mero also possessed a pair of very pretty speckled wings. Despite these, she appeared to want none of the attention or social power her mother and aunt were dead set on throwing her way. Instead, Mero had been feeding Felicity her social cues quietly and discreetly for two days. She now gave Felicity a tiny nod.

“Yes, I believe so,” Felicity said. It was exceedingly unlikely that Oliver would make an appearance today, as he was oblivious to the fact that she had been stuck _for ages_ every day this week in this room with these females. Felicity allowed herself a moment’s fantasy that it was Oliver in this chair, sipping chai from a tiny goblet, holding his index finger up just so, in a northerly direction, as all angels were taught to do from birth so they could be living compasses or some such idiocy. Oliver would no doubt still look as majestic as the thunder god, Perun, in that pose, and his feet would brace flat against the floor, she had _absolutely_ no doubt. Curse him.

“Do you know where your husband is?” the matronly Gisela asked. “He seems to keep strange hours.”

“He has many duties, yes,” Felicity said.

“It was unexpected that he should return and immediately be interested in taking a place in Zemlyan leadership,” Aregund said. “Although, with dear Waldhar gone, I suppose we had need--”

“Zemlya has always taken care of itself,” Audovera said. “And in a way that respects the balance of powers among our own angels.”

Audovera was clearly angry that Oliver had come in and done what was needed for the clan without asking permission. This was a recurring theme at these teas. Whenever Felicity tried to speak up on Oliver’s behalf, she would take Felicity to task for some minor etiquette infraction, making her look foolish in front of all of these angelas. Felicity thought it likely some of these angels appreciated what Oliver was doing, even if Audovera did not. As much as it irritated her to be thrust into the role of liaison to those angels, she knew harnessing their approval would help secure Zvyozda’s survival. So she kept trying.

“The streets of Zemlya are much cleaner,” Felicity said.

“Yes, now that the riffraff has been swept up,” Aregund said. “We should have closed the castle’s doors earlier. If my husband had been here and not...” she looked chagrined. It was clearly a breach of etiquette to have one’s head on the point of a stake outside the castle’s walls.

“Dead?” Merofled said dully. A collective shiver went through the room.

“I’m so sorry about your father,” Felicity took the opportunity to say to Merofled. And she was.

Dally and Waldhar had been friends. Waldhar had been vain and could be arrogant, but he was essentially kind hearted. Dally had never forgotten that it had been Waldhar who’d found him in a tiny village outside of Celestia and paid an outrageous number of solidi to his master for him. It had been Waldhar who’d shaved and garbed him in linen, Waldhar who’d consulted him on any number of matters, and, eventually, Waldhar who’d given him his freedom and arranged for his position as librarian.

Dally had told Felicity the stories how all this had happened many times, but he always stopped far in the past. The part Felicity was always most curious about - the time in Dally’s life when Donna and Felicity herself had entered into it - he’d never gotten all the way there. She would sit at his knee and listen to Dally’s tales from way back, stories of foolish angels, daring humans, war, and slavery. No matter how many times Dally told her the stories of his life, though, he never made it all the way into the present. He always stopped at the word _freedom_ , and then he would swallow and turn away so she wouldn’t notice the shine in his eyes.

So Felicity didn’t understand why Mero was even here now. Why did her mother drag her out to wade through the social niceties? Mero should have been left at home to grieve, even if these angels had long assumed Waldhar dead. Felicity couldn’t unravel what was happening  in this room, but it _was clear_ Merofled was not here of her own desire.

“We don’t speak of the dead,” Aregund said repressingly. “And if you weren’t the ill-bred wife of an upstart claimant to Zemlya, you would know that.”

Felicity bit her lip. She saw the horrified look Merofled gave her mother and a handful of other shocked looks among those assembled, but the words still stung and humiliated, coming from Zvyozda’s former angelitsa, the head of all society here in the castle. She closed her eyes for a second to gain control over her emotions. Ill-bred.

Then she remembered something about Aregund. Dally hadn’t liked her. He’d quite disliked her, in fact. Aregund had argued to keep him enslaved, Felicity knew that. She felt that the coins Waldhar had expended to buy Dally should not be wasted, and that he’d bought and brought him to Zvyozda for a purpose. If Waldhar freed Dally, she thought he would leave and return to his people, and then where would Waldhar be?

Waldhar had insisted, though. He said Dally would be just as good to him as a friend as he had been his slave, better even because loyalty could not be purchased. This had turned out to be true. Waldhar had been a much better judge of character than his wife.

Aregund, for all her elegant clothing and high-society manners, had never been a beautiful woman. She had an unfortunate aspect to her, a resemblance to a weasel. She was gaunt, with a narrow chin, a prominent nose, and rather beady eyes. Dally used to make a face when he thought of her, and Felicity would laugh and know exactly to whom he was referring without his mentioning Aregund’s name.

It wasn’t like Dally to make fun of people for their looks. Usually he was exasperated by their stupidity. So once Felicity inquired about Aregund. “Why do you dislike her so much, Dally? She can’t help the way she looks.”

Dally’s eyes had softened at her. “You’re right, owlet. We all get what the gods give us.” He patted his head. “They apparently decided I didn’t need height or hair. I don’t dislike her for her looks, but she’s arrogant and disloyal, and Waldhar deserves better than that.” He would say no more about Aregund after that.

Here she was, though, the weasel and her sleek marten sister, the two of them complaining about matters they would never bother to solve and about Oliver. It was too much. Dally would never have tolerated it.

“Do you suppose Oliver will continue to endlessly pamper our unwanted guests?” Audovera asked no one in particular.

Felicity straightened and scooched to the edge of her chair. “I will thank you to remain respectful of our clan leader and my husband while you are visiting in his house,” she said. “We are, all of us, dead without him. Everyone in this room knows it, and anyone who doesn’t is doubly doomed.”

Audovera looked outraged. “Well,” she said, “You _would_ think that. We are not all of us doomed. Those of us with wings can fly away at any time.”

“Fly away where?” Felicity asked. “To Maroboden, to Celestia? Where you will be refugees? I hope you will receive a better welcome than you’ve given our displaced clansmen here.”

“It was not our wish to welcome them,” Aregund said. “It was the interloper’s. One can only guess what the next step in his plan to ‘save’ us is. Kasha at every meal?”

Felicity slid off her chair and to her feet. She pointed at Aregund and Audovera. It was a tremendously offensive gesture from a human to an angel, she knew, but she was finished with appeasement of females who would never be appeased. “When at the end of this you still have your weasel’s face attached to the end of your long angel’s neck, you will be able to give thanks to Angel Oliver for it. And I will see you give it to him on your knees!” She turned to the rest of the crowd, the words spilling out of her mouth, arm extended. “The angelas are welcome to visit in my husband’s home as they have been, but only if you extend him the respect he deserves. This castle needs him, and he will have your allegiance and your help, or you will not have his!”

It was a dramatic speech, backed up by a dramatic gesture, and as she finished her turn and her gaze followed her arm, she saw Oliver standing in the room’s open door, his eyes gleaming and his mouth open.

“Oh,” Felicity said.

  


>>\--->

  


“This castle needs him, and he will have your allegiance and your help, or you will not have his!”

Felicity’s words rang in the air as Oliver pushed open the doors and stepped inside. She stood at the end of the room like a shieldmaiden, her arm extended and her voice louder than Oliver had ever heard it. Behind him, Tommy gave a low whistle at the same time Felicity locked eyes with them.

Her face flushed red. “Oh,” she said. Oliver tried to meet her eyes, but she was now staring with some fascination at a spot on the wall.

Tommy pushed forward, practically leaping past the seated angelas and up to Felicity. “You’ve all become acquainted with my sister?” he asked. “The apple falls not so far from the tree, as you can see.”

The angelas reacted immediately, gasping and talking. Obviously, this was a juicy piece of news to them, and it changed things entirely. Oliver had been to enough angel soirees to understand that Adalbert’s daughter and Malcolm’s daughter were two different social categories. If Felicity were to be acknowledged by Malcolm, she would be a social bridge to Tommy and Malcolm: both of them unmarried, good looking, and terribly rich angels. In addition, Malcolm was acting Archangel in everything but name. With a few words, Felicity had just ascended to cloud level in angel society - if what Tommy said were true.

The outrage quickly seeped from everyone in the room but Audovera and Aregund. They chose to ignore this revelation and swept from the room, shoulders held high and square. Audovera let one wing rudely brush Oliver’s as she passed him, and Aregund dragged her daughter out by the hand.

Felicity looked stunned. “Tommy?” she said.

Tommy grabbed her by the elbow and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and smiled a bit uncertainly. “It’s true,” she said. “Tommy is my brother.”

Oliver noted the phrasing, that she’d said nothing about Malcolm, but the room erupted in another round of chatter. He moved forward until he was standing in front of Felicity, and he took her hand and held it. It was cold. He addressed the assemblage, “I hope my new bride has been able to answer any questions you’ve had about what is happening in Zvyozda and put you at ease?” One of the younger angelas, Basina, looked up at him, gulped, and nodded.

“Very good,” he said. He moved behind Felicity and nestled his hand in the small of her back. She stood straighter, glanced up at him, and gave a small smile. The intimacy they were feigning was not overly convincing, but the angelas were already making their leave. The visit was obviously finished, and there were so many angels with whom to share this news. Within minutes, they were gone.

When the last angela had left the room, Felicity pulled out of Oliver’s grasp and pushed Tommy in the chest. “What was that about, _brother_?”

Tommy stepped back and put a hand up. Behind him, one wing fluttered. “I was trying to help you!”

“By revealing me to be Malcolm’s love child? How exactly is that helping? We don’t even know that to be true!”

“I do,” Tommy said. “Malcolm told me. And I thought if all of them knew who your real father is, they’d treat you better than they have been.” He gave Oliver an entreating look.

“First of all, Dally is my real father,” Felicity said. “He might not be my father by blood, but he raised me. And secondly, how do you know how they’ve been treating me? It’s not like you - either of you - has been paying the slightest attention.” She glared at both of them for a long moment and then let out a breath. “Sara.”

“Yes, Sara told us,” Tommy said.

“Did she tell you to let out a giant piece of gossip about my parentage in a roomful of hostile angelas?” Felicity jabbed Tommy on the arm.

“Well, no,” Tommy said. “I just thought that if they knew who was behind you, they wouldn’t push so hard.”

“Since when has Malcolm ever been behind me? Even if it’s true, even if he is my father, I doubt he will acknowledge me, and he won’t defend me. He showed little interest in me before. ”

“Before what?” Oliver asked. It occurred to him that perhaps there was something in the timing of all this that might not have to do with the Skalvians’ invasion.

Both Tommy and Felicity turned to look at him. “Before what?” they asked.

“I was just thinking aloud,” Oliver said. “Forget it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said. “I wanted to help, and I think...I was just so angry at him for denying me my sister. A part of me wanted him to have to bear their judgment for what he did. For how selfish he was.” He laid a hand gently on her arm.

Felicity pressed her lips together. “Are you always this impulsive?” she asked.

“Very frequently,” Tommy said with his crooked smile. Oliver had seen that smile melt the hearts of twelve-year-old girls, and he watched in fascination as the lines in Felicity’s face softened in response to it now. “I wanted to fix this, I suppose. Swoop in and help.”

“She had them in hand,” Oliver said.

Tommy turned to him and gave him a quizzical look. “What?”

“She was handling everything fine,” Oliver said. “When we came in. More than fine.” He looked at Felicity. He raised an eyebrow as her eyes met his and watched a pink flush creep up her chest and neck again into her face. It was charming, both the color and her fluttering eyelashes.

“Thank you, for what you said.” A part of him was more touched at her confidence in him than he could even express. She might not realize it, but admiration and gratitude were responses that were new to him, given his complicated history as a citizen of the empire.

Felicity tilted up her chin. “You’re welcome,” she said. “If I have to face these angels down day after day, I might as well establish my credentials - which are your credentials, in our situation.” Her eyes locked for a moment with his, and he saw clearly how much effort it took her to play this part in front of that audience. “We all owe you a debt of gratitude.”

On impulse, he reached over, picked up her hand, and brought it to his lips. “ _You_ do not,” Oliver said. “You’re helping me.” He dropped her hand and glanced at Tommy, grinning. “As is Tommy - or he will be when I figure out what to do with him. He _is_ impulsive, but he’s also the most loyal friend you could hope to have.”

“Stop,” Tommy said, slapping Oliver’s shoulder. “I’ll blush. You know I can’t handle too many compliments. It’s why my father is careful to give me so few.”

A sound came from the door, and the three of them turned to see Mila clearing her throat. Half hidden behind her was the white face of a terrified little girl: Sveta, the child who had so mysteriously disappeared an hour ago.

“Angel Oliver,” Mila said, “I do not wish to disturb you, but we seem to have a small problem.”

  


>>\--->

  


Seeing Sveta’s terrified little face made Tommy’s heart seize, both for what she must be feeling and for what she could potentially give away. He’d disappeared and grabbed her purely on impulse - Felicity was right - and hadn’t fully worked out what to do with her once he’d gotten her away from the execution site. His magic had rendered them both invisible, and he’d flown her over the castle wall, grasping her firmly and holding his hand over her mouth. She hadn’t screamed, though. She hadn’t said a word.

He’d set her down on Oliver’s back step and knocked on the door. “The woman here is kind,” he’d whispered. “She will take care of you.” Mila had opened the door and knelt down to talk to Sveta, and Tommy had disappeared again. He’d learned long ago to time these little jaunts carefully. People tended to notice if you were gone too long or vanished mysteriously too often.

Now Mila was telling Oliver that they had yet another charity case to take in, as if Sveta were just another refugee whose original housing placement hadn’t worked out and not the girl all of Zvyozda had seen snatched from a bloody Skalvian death an hour ago. Oliver was nodding his slow Oliver nod, the one that meant nothing, only that he was thinking and trying not to be too obvious about it.

That was the thing about Oliver: he noticed what went on around him. Not so much the relationship drama. He could be dense about that. Anything strange, though - he had a real sixth sense for things that weren’t quite right. Tommy always had to be extra careful about working his magic around Oliver.

Sometimes the best way was just to plough through it, though. Tommy walked over to Sveta, bent down, and said, “Hello.”

Sveta didn’t say anything, but her eyes focused on his face in a way that made Tommy’s pulse tick up. “What’s your name?” he asked in the calmest voice he could manage.

“She won’t say,” Mila said. “We’ve been asking her about herself since she got here, but she doesn’t answer.”

Tommy crouched down in front of her. Up close he could see how bloodshot her eyes were and how puffy the skin around them was. That didn’t stop her from looking him straight in the eyes. He gestured at Oliver. “We saw what happened in front of the castle. Your grandmother called you Sveta. Is that your name?”

She nodded.

“Can you speak?” Tommy asked. She opened her mouth, but then closed it. She shook her head, and Tommy let out a breath.

“What happened to her?” Felicity asked, the pitch of her voice rising, but Tommy gave her a tiny shake of his head and turned his attention back to the girl.

Sveta started to tremble, and Tommy realized she was only a moment away from fainting, either from shock or perhaps hunger. “Can we get her a cup of chai and some kasha?” he asked. “She needs to sit down and have something to eat and drink.” Mila looked to Oliver, who nodded, and she walked away in the direction of the kitchen. Tommy shepherded Sveta over to a nearby bench and sat her down. He took the space beside her.

“My daughter’s name is Sveta too,” he said. “She’s something. She came into the world holding her hand up like a fist. We call her Svetka, though, because she is such a Svetka. Sharp as a thorn, but so bossy.” He smiled. “I wouldn’t trade her for anything.”

Behind him Tommy heard Felicity whisper, “Tell me what happened,” to Oliver.

Tommy turned around and said, “The Skalvians killed her grandparents today in front of the castle. They didn’t get Sveta, though, did they?” He gave the girl’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “And they’re not going to.”

“She disappeared into nothing,” Oliver said. “The people in the square were very upset by it. They wondered if angel magic were at work.” He gave Tommy a very direct look, and Tommy wondered if he cut his timing too close this morning. He probably shouldn’t have come back after he dropped Sveta off. He’d counted on the chaos of the moment distracting everyone.

Oliver dropped to one knee and asked Sveta, “Can you tell us anything about your rescue?”

Sveta shook her head.

“Anything you could tell us at all,” he said, “could help us try to defeat the Skalvians.”

Sveta opened her mouth and a low grinding sound came from her throat, but no words.

“That’s all she could say for me too,” Mila said.

Felicity’s face fell. No doubt she was thinking of her father and if she could get him back from the Skalvians. Adalbert could be a real walnut, tough to crack and a pain to boot, but he’d always softened when his daughter was in the room.

Tommy stood up. “There is a room here that is a safe place,” he said. “Oliver, is it okay if Sveta uses it?”

Oliver tilted his head at Tommy and then nodded slowly. “If you think it’s best.”

Tommy crouched down by Sveta. “Would you like to stay in this room for now? I can take you there. We can stop on the way to the kitchen for the food. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, though. I’m sure Mila can find some other place for your to stay, or we can put you in another house.”

Sveta looked momentarily panicked at the idea of going elsewhere, and then she put her small hand on Tommy’s arm and nodded.

“You’re still a little weak, I think,” he said. “So I’m going to carry you there, alright?” He gathered her up in his arms, noting how little she weighed. He wondered how long she had been fleeing from the Skalvians and how far away her home was from here.

“Uh, Tommy,” Oliver said, as Tommy stood and settled the girl’s weight. Tommy looked back at him.

“Come and talk to me when you’ve taken care of Sveta,” Oliver said. “I think perhaps you have a number of things you may want to share. With both Felicity and me.”

Tommy stiffened, but he pasted on a smile before he turned and eased Sveta’s body through the doorway. “I’ll do that,” he said and took off for safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I loved the idea of Oliver as white knight swooping in to save Felicity from the mean girls, I always intended Felicity to get pushed to the point where she would push back. It's times like these, when the Skalvians are at the door, that you need a good backbone. Thankfully, she has one. 
> 
> Also: TOMMMMMMMMMMY!!!
> 
> If you like this fic and have time or the inclination. I’d love to hear your thoughts. :)


	6. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy, Oliver, and Felicity make important discoveries regarding the Skalvian threat and each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah, this was such a fun chapter to write. I dedicate it to [Mel_Sanfo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mel_Sanfo/pseuds/Mel_Sanfo) who told me she reads this fic as soon as it drops. Thanks for the late night DM convos. Sorry I fell asleep during this last one. :)
> 
> I loooooved writing this chapter, chortled myself silly in spots. I was improved immeasurably by input from [lademonessa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lademonessa/pseuds/Lademonessa), [lerayon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lerayon/pseuds/lerayon), and [hotcookinmama](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hotcookinmama/pseuds/hotcookinmama). Thank you so much!

Tommy carried Sveta and her little pot of kasha down the stone steps to where the house and the mountain became one. He knew this maze of tunnels like his own name. They passed storage rooms, and walked through a large chamber that had been hollowed out to use as a shelter during attack. He noticed that it had recently been cleared out and that cots and stores had been set aside for use.

Beyond that chamber there was a secreted hallway with only two doors. Fortunately, like all other rooms in this house, it had a high rounded ceiling that allowed for the passage of wings so he didn’t have to duck. Off this hallway were a number of hidden rooms. Tommy could sense them, although they were all protected against intrusion by the structure’s original blood magic. Blood magic trumped thieves magic; it trumped any magic as far as Tommy knew.

He took a rushlight from his pocket and lit it on one of the torches in the chamber, then he handed it to Sveta. “Hold it aloft,” he said. “This section is very dark.”

When he reached the end of this hallway, he held one hand out. “ _Pokazhi sebya_ ,” he said, and the outline of a door was suddenly there in the rock. Sveta gasped, and the rushlight flickered with her inhaled breath. Tommy set her carefully down, then he took the small ceramic pot from her and placed it on the ground.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “It’s protection magic, and it’s how we’re going to keep you safe.” She nodded and gulped. He took her hand in one of his, holding the other in place. “ _Otkroysya_ ,” he said. The door swung open, and they walked inside. Tommy reached up to the ledge just inside the doorway and grasped an oil lamp. He held it down in front of Sveta and watched as she carefully lit it with the rushlight. The room brightened, and the bunk beds, the fireplace, and the table with its well-worn shakhmati set were now visible.

“When I was a boy,” he said, “this was my lair. Well, it was Oliver’s lair - his father passed it on to him - but Oliver shared it with me. I thought it was the best place in the world. The only people who knew about this room were Angel Oliver, our friend Sara, and Oliver’s father, Angel Robert.

“We slept down here, played cards, and sometimes even did lessons down here. Oliver’s mother didn’t much like it. She thought we would catch cold if we spent too much time in this room, but his father talked her into letting us. He said boys needed a place to be boys. You’ll notice, however, there are quite a lot of blankets, so we won’t have to worry about bedding for you.” Tommy stepped out of the room, picked up the kasha pot, brought it in, and placed it on the table. “Sit,” he said, and Sveta dragged a chair away from the table and sat down.

At the end of one of the two sets of bunk beds, there was a large trunk. Tommy rummaged through it and found a couple of spoons and a small honey jar. Those went on the table too. “There’s a chai pot in here, hold on,” he said. He found it underneath a pillow and a bag of marbles. “Aha!”

Tommy took the pot, a tin of chai leaves, and a metal kettle and brought them to the fireplace. From a metal casket, he scooped a couple of shovels of charcoal into a worn recession in the stone, pulled out another rushlight and lit it from the lamp. “Don’t worry, it won’t smoke,” he said. “Or not much. Someone truly ingenious carved out these rooms down here. There’s a ventilation system, and even a water tap in the large chamber. _Hot_ water. It comes up from a spring. I wouldn’t doubt there’s magic involved in all of this too.” Oliver said there wasn’t, but what did Oliver know?

He lifted up the kettle. “I have to go get some water if you’d like chai. Do you mind if I leave?”

The girl’s eyes widened, and she shook her head.

“You don’t mind?” More shaking, this time much more violently. She looked so much different than his Sveta. Both girls had blond hair, but Sveta’s was lank and and dull, and her spirits matched.

“You’d like me to stay here with you?” Tommy asked. She nodded, so he sat in one of the other chairs and pulled it up to the table. He opened the top to the kasha pot, took a spoon, and scooped out a large dollop of honey from the honey jar. It melted in the still warm pot, and its sweet, pungent smell, combined with the charcoal smoke, brought him back to long winter days spent here with Oliver and Sara and away from his father. He pushed the kasha over to Sveta. “Eat,” he said. “It’s good.”

She took the spoon and raised it to her mouth, gingerly pulling the knobbly buckwheat into her mouth with her tongue. She sucked the honey off the spoon.

Tommy nodded. “That’s the best part.” He took his finger and ran it over the rim of the honey pot and then licked it. “If you’d like, I’ll introduce you to my Sveta. I promise you, she’s not mean. Bossy, but not mean.”

Sveta blinked up at him.

Hmm. Not time for social introductions, then, but it was time to get down to business. “I’m going to ask you a few questions,” he said in his calmest voice. “I know you can’t talk, but just nod for yes and shake your head for no, alright?

She took another bite of the kasha and gave a tiny nod.

“How many days ago did the Skalvians capture you?”

Sveta’s face blanched in memory, but she slowly held up four fingers.

“Four days,” Tommy said. “Have you eaten since then? She nodded.

“You’re hungry now, though, yes?”

She nodded again.

Tommy fingered the tallest of the shakhmati pieces - the karol. “The next question is harder, but I have to know to help you. Did the Skalvians hurt you?”

Sveta looked confused, so Tommy clarified. “I know they killed your grandparents, and they took you captive, but did they beat you? Do you need to see a healer? Besides your voice, is anything else broken?”

Understanding dawned on her face, and she shook her head.

Tommy blew out a breath. “Good, good,” he said. “Hungry I can handle. Scared I can handle. Sad I can manage, even.” He stood up and grabbed a blanket, then tucked it around her shoulders. “This is my last question, then, for now, and then we’ll get you fed and settled in one of these bunks. You might need to think carefully, so take your time.” He paced away from her.

“While you were being held in the Skalvians’ encampment, did you happen to see an older man in captivity there too? He would be bald and soft around the middle and maybe wearing an expression like this.” Tommy turned and mimed what he hoped was irritation. It was Adalbert’s default expression, in his experience.

Sveta thought, and then after a minute her eyes widened. Slowly she nodded her head.

Tommy smiled to himself. He wasn’t so useless after all. He’d just discovered that Adalbert, that crafty old crow, was still alive. Felicity would be overjoyed to hear it.

  


>>\--->

 

  
Late in that eventful day, Felicity finally found some time to devote to her true mission: deciphering the texts. Settling in the bed in Oliver’s room, she waded through more of the heavy Skalvian history. The language was complex. Understanding the root structure of the words was helpful, but there were verb forms she couldn’t entirely decipher. There seemed to be hierarchical levels of conjugation that implied...she didn’t know what it implied, but it was strange. The Skalvians didn’t conceptualize their gods the same way her people, the Slavs, did. There was an immediacy, an expectation she was unfamiliar with, and she wasn’t sure if she was reading this correctly or not. Her Skalvian vocabulary was quite a bit more limited than her Latin one.

“It’s as if they’re slaves or something,” she said out loud. It was colder that evening, and she had thrown a thin blanket over her legs. She held the text as close to her candle as she could without setting it alight and frowned over the words. “Some of them, at least. The _fleeting_.”

Oliver looked up from where he was sitting at the far end of the bed. He was sharpening the points of arrowheads on a stone. “The fleeting?”

“That’s what they’re called,” Felicity said. “As far as I can tell. Some of the Skalvians; the word they have for them is the _fleeting_.”

“What do you suppose that means? That they’re fast?” The candlelight caught the gold in his hair, bleached from his time outdoors.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice catching a little. The hollow in his throat below where his beard stubble tapered off held the shadows like a well.

“What are the other Skalvians called?” He sat there, scraping the metal across the flint - scritch, scritch, scritch - like a tamed war deity. The muscles of his arms rippled with movement of his hands, but his eyes were questioning, not wrathful.

“The _chosen_ ,” Felicity said, clearing her throat. “It’s not clear what they’re chosen for, but it can’t be anything good. Their mythology is a series of horrors.”

“How so?” Oliver asked.

“Well, most of this history is bragging about all of the other nations they’ve obliterated,” Felicity said. She flipped back a few pages in the manuscript and ran her finger down the vellum. “How their warrior gods demanded it, how they answered the call, and also how they attacked and bloodied the soil of their enemies...there’s a lot of blood in the narrative. They have at least three words for blood. Zvyozda is not the first battle site they’ve filled with decapitated heads, either. They do that everywhere.”

Oliver’s hand, holding the flint, stilled. “How many places have they conquered?”

“From this account it seems like nearly every small nation east of the Sambian Mountains, although Dally always says not to trust what people say in their own words. Their choices of ideas and subjects mean more.”

Oliver gave her a confused look. “What does that even mean?”

“It means what they choose to write down tells you more about who they are and what they believe than what they say they did. The account may be inaccurate; that they chose to record it means something. So the fact that this writer used precious vellum and ink to tell you in detail about their methods of attacking and decapitating an enemy tells you he loves war. _Loves_ it.” Felicity gestured at the text. “Look at this thing. It’s hundreds of pages long, and it’s entirely about battle. There isn’t even one good recipe or any kind of description of their home building techniques. The Skalvians, in short, live to kill.”

Oliver frowned. “That’s something we already know, though.”

“I realize that!” She threw up her hands. “I’ve spent hours and hours parsing verbs and making mental notes about prefixes, and I’ve learned nothing useful. Even their gods are single-minded, always ordering the chosen to drink the _Sweat of Og_ and march on the enemy!”

“The sweat of Og?”

“Who knows what it is? Og isn’t his name either, but it’s unpronounceable. If he exists, he already wants me dead, and if he doesn’t, he doesn’t need to hear his name out of my mouth. Og is what I call their most important war god. He looks like a dragon, or at least parts of him do.”

Oliver put the flint and the arrowhead down on the bed and looked at her speculatively. “Which parts?”

The parts she was too embarrassed to talk about. Felicity closed the book, giving it a strong pat. “His head, and he has wings and a tail, but it’s small. It’s not like…”

“It’s not like…”

Felicity crossed her legs underneath the blanket. She felt heat crawl up her neck yet again, and she looked down. “Some other things,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.” No creature could be that endowed and still walk...or even creep...the land.

Oliver, the wretch, laughed. “I think I know,” he said. “I’ve been all over the empire and have seen many statues of gods. They often have very large…” He raised his eyebrows.

“Members?”

“...hands,” Oliver said. “And members. Sometimes they have big members too. The male gods, usually.” He grinned at her.

Felicity picked up her slipper from off the floor and threw it at him. “You knew what I was talking about,” she said. “It’s no wonder the library is short on Skalvian resources, considering how revolting these accounts are. There’s just endless description of Og’s _member_. I’m sure that’s what it is. I don’t have any sort of dictionary, but it’s hard to imagine what else ‘the mighty branch between his legs’ could be.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t imagine why the Skalvians have this obsession. It’s absurd.”

“That’s because you’re not a man,” Oliver said. He leaned back into her space on the bed, propping his head on one hand. “And you’ve never been with a man, so you don’t know the value of a good one.”

Her pulse stuttered in her throat. “A good man?” she said, her voice rising. “But I do.”

“A good member,” he said, “and you don’t. You obviously don’t.” With his free hand he played with the end of her braid. “Not all knowledge is found in books.”

She gestured at the huge history between them, “Well, with all of this to recommend it…” She knew they were no longer talking in generalities, but it was easier to pretend.

“It’s not violent,” Oliver said. “Not when it’s done right. There’s very little blood.” He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers and then pulled it to his mouth.

The candle wobbled in her other hand, and she moved to put it on the table by the bed. The light winked off his wings and a dozen muted colors reflected back. She swallowed. “Does it hurt to touch them?” she blurted out.

A crease appeared between his eyes. “Touch what?” he asked.

“Your wings,” she said. “Humans aren’t supposed even to look at an angel’s wings. I’ve always wondered why. Does it hurt?”

He tilted his head at her, and then he moved up the bed to lean a shoulder against the headboard. His right wing curved around his shoulder as he shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. “It’s just annoying to have people grab your wings all the time. Once in awhile someone will try to pluck one.”

She laughed. “Pluck? Like a chicken?”

“You laugh, but it’s not that much fun to be petted by strangers. Like a dog,” he said.

She laughed again. “Oh, poor you. Angel problems. How do you manage?”

He tucked his wing behind him again. “That’s it,” he said, “I was going to let you touch, but now you’ll have to die wondering what these feathers feel like.”

“No!” she said, reaching out a hand. “I’m sorry. Please, please will you let me feel? I should get something from all of this. Something to tell my children.”

He appeared to consider it, biting the inside of his lip. “I’ll let you touch my wings,” he said in a low voice. “Feel them, stroke them, whatever you want.”

She smiled and leaned further towards him, but he pulled away from her and said huskily, “As long as you let me…”

She stilled. Her hand was almost on his shoulder. She could feel the heat coming off his skin. “Let you what?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “Let me touch you how _I_ want,” he said, and before she could pull back, he caught her arm. “Once, that’s all. No bloodshed. You can end it whenever you like.” He fluttered his wings, and the gentle breeze that created buffeted her face lightly. Up this close, she could see how his feathers overlapped each other like scales - iridescent, each one a piece of art. “Do we have a deal?”

Her heart skipped a beat. A full beat. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said.

“I disagree,” Oliver said, releasing her arm. “I thought you liked learning new things.”

“I do,” she said.

“So…” he extended his wing again, so that it almost, _almost_ touched her face. She closed her eyes.

“One touch,” she said.

“One,” he agreed.

She leaned closer to him and stroked the top of his wing with her fingertips. The feathers were surprisingly cool, given how much heat the rest of him was giving off. She could now see that the top feathers were smaller, shorter, and denser, and the ones at the bottom were longer. “They’re stiff,” she said in surprise.

“Yes,” he said. “They have to be to fly. The under feathers are softer, though.” He took her fingers and pressed the tips underneath and those - those were downy and silken.

“They are,” she said. “So soft.” She pressed her palms against them. This part of him felt almost like fur. “I can see why people want to pet you.”

He let her explore him patiently, saying nothing, just extending his wing this way and that as she took in how it was made and how it must work in the air. Finally she put her hand down. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve always wondered.”

“My turn?” he asked, and she braced herself and nodded.

“Oh, come now,” he said. “Learning experience, remember? It won’t be bad, I promise.” He moved into her space, and reflexively she pulled away, but the headboard limited her retreat. He retracted his wing, rolled his weight, placed his hand on the wood over her shoulder, and then slowly moved his face closer. She saw a last flash of blue before she closed her eyes.

And nothing happened. She felt the exhale of his breath, but nothing else. She opened her eyes again. He was smiling down at her, and, surprised, she smiled back. Then he tilted his head and kissed her.

She forgot to breathe as she felt his lips press softly onto hers, but then she gasped for air. He smiled again and took her bottom lip between his and pressed her into the headboard as he pushed and sucked and then eventually licked into her mouth. Small movements, gentle. She reached up to balance herself, catching hold of his neck. He groaned and moved over her body, sliding a hand around her waist. She felt his thumb caress her stomach through her kirtle, and everything inside her melted all at once. She kissed him back, not knowing if she were doing it right, or if she were only revealing the true extent of her lack of experience with men - or angels. She wanted to feel more of the heat and the bristle, the push and the wetness of his mouth. She wanted to feel it everywhere. If this is what Kalina experienced, it was no wonder she was willing to lose herself in it.

Her eyes flew open. Felicity saw that Oliver’s were closed, and she felt him slide on top of her and press something hard...

“Stop!” she said. An image of Baby Gosia flashed before her eyes, Kalina’s almost angel whom Anton had never even seen. Even angel babies...there were women’s apartments attached to this house. Felicity had toured them with Mila, and two refugee families were staying there now. Is that what she wanted for herself? If they even survived this?

He opened his eyes, and she saw the question there. “Stop?” he asked. He moved again, and the pressure of him felt so good that she wriggled against him involuntarily. He smiled and leaned his head back down.

She put her hand up. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said again, trying for a resolute note. “The women I’ve known haven’t had good experiences with angels.”

Oliver blinked down at her and then frowned. “You mean your mother and Kalina?” he asked. “It’s hardly the same, Felicity. I’m your husband.”

“You’re not my husband,” she said because _clearly_ he wasn’t. “You didn’t marry me, you only claimed me. That’s not marriage.”

“A technicality,” Oliver said, smoothing his hand across her stomach. “I’d never hurt you. I care for you. I’m responsible for your welfare even without a wedding ceremony. Anything of mine here is yours, and I’ve already told both Barry and Tommy that, if you come to them, they must take you wherever you wish to go, so if something happens to me, you will not die here.”

Felicity looked into his eyes and saw that there was concern for her, and she knew he meant what he was saying. And a part of her wanted...she wanted him to... “I know,” she said. “But we’re facing a siege, and we could end up dead or slaves or worse. I don’t know if you’ll survive or I will, but I do know that I can’t do this with a baby.” Her eyes fell to his mouth, and she licked her lips. “And what about Dally? I need to keep my attention on these books and discovering how I can save him. I can’t get distracted--”

He cupped her face, and she swallowed. “No,” she said. “No.”

“Alright,” Oliver said.

“Alright?”

“Alright,” he said. “I told you one touch. We can stop.”

“Then could you--could you,” she wiggled underneath him, “get off me?”

He pulled his hands away as he rolled his weight off her. He licked his lips, and she followed the movement of his tongue as it slid in and out of his mouth. That tongue had just been on her mouth. She breathed out, wavering.

And then there was a knock on the door.

“Felicity,” she heard Tommy say as he banged the door again. “Felicity, I need to talk to you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun factoid: [honey](http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/the-science-behind-honeys-eternal-shelf-life-1218690/?no-ist) is one of the only foods that never spoils. Dried foods will lose their nutrient value (and taste/potency) over time, but they won't go bad in a way that will make you sick. So no worries about what Tommy pulled out of the trunk, okay? :)
> 
> Also: Finally, _finally_ more Olicity!!! Was it worth the wait? I hope so.


	7. Unexpected Aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy reveals what he knows about Adalbert to Oliver and Felicity, and the three of them decide what must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to [AerynSun75](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AerynSun75/pseuds/AerynSun75), a reader whose feedback I so appreciate. I was very tempted to dedicate it to Holly/[geniewithwifi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/geniewithwifi/pseuds/geniewithwifi), but she is mad at Tommy, so it will have to be a future chapter instead. Thanks for reading!

Oliver went to open the bedroom door while Felicity picked up the large Skalvian history and shoved it under the bed. She made sure no other texts were visible and straightened the bed so that it looked less _rumpled_. Tommy didn’t need to know anything of what had just happened between Oliver and her.

Tommy bounced into the room looking excited in a way she couldn’t interpret. Had something just happened outside the castle walls? She stood in alarm, but he waved her down.

“No, no,” he said, “sit. I need to tell you something.”

She sat back down on the bed and gestured to the chair at the desk. “You too, then,” she said. “What is it?”

Tommy sat down, and Oliver stood with his arms folded across his chest, looking impatient. “Yes, what _is_ it, Tommy?” he asked.

“Adalbert,” Tommy said, with a note of triumph, “is _alive_.”

Felicity felt the turbulence of conflicting emotions as they overwhelmed her: surprise, doubt, confusion, elation. In her mind’s eye, she saw Adalbert as he’d been before he’d been taken - an older man, stocky and quiet, bent over his papers with a frown that masked his kind and patient nature. “He’s alive?” she asked, coming to her feet. “How do you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Tommy said. “I have proof that he’s still in the Skalvian encampment, and he’s unharmed, or mostly.”

“Mostly?” Felicity asked. “What does that mean, _mostly_?”

“It means I don’t know exactly what shape he’s in, just that he there and in one piece.”

Oliver shifted on his feet. “How do you know, though?”

“Never mind how I know--”

“How did you find out then?” Oliver said. “Look, there’s no way you could know this unless…” He narrowed his eyes. “The girl. What was her name? Sveta, like your daughter. She told you. She’s talking again?”

Tommy pressed his lips together and straightened. “No. She’s not talking. But she saw him in the encampment where the Skalvians were holding them.”

“What did she tell you _exactly_?” Felicity asked as she began walking the space between the bed and the tall wooden cabinet.

“We played a game,” Tommy said. “I acted out some things, and she nodded yes or no. I asked her if she’d seen a man with your father’s description, and she said yes. I asked if he had been hurt, and she didn’t think so. She’d only seen him in passing. She couldn’t describe much.”

“Why would she tell _you_ this?” Oliver asked. “How was she so willing to go with you in the first place? You don’t know her. She came in as a refugee from the countryside.” He tilted his head. “There is something going on, Tommy, and you have to tell me.”

Tommy’s eyes shot from Oliver’s to Felicity’s and then to the ceiling. He stared up for several moments and then sighed.

Felicity saw Tommy’s hesitation, and it made her angry. “This is my father,” she said, stepping forward towards him. “I know he’s not your father, but you’re my brother, and Oliver’s friend, so _tell us what is going on_.”

“If I tell you,” Tommy said, “I’m putting my life into your hands, so I have to know that means something to you.”

“Of course it does,” Felicity said.

“No, I mean it. No one knows this except my father and yours,” Tommy said.

“Adalbert? Tommy, stop being so mysterious, and just tell us.”

“The thing is, some angels have gifts,” he said. “Magic. Real magic. But you know what humans do when they find out about them.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows at Oliver, but he only shrugged at her. “We won’t tell anyone,” she said.

Tommy looked down at his hands. “My gift is something they call thieves magic. It means that I can go places unseen and take things, summon objects or hide them - that kind of thing.”

“Thieves magic,” Oliver said. He looked thoughtful. “So when the girl went missing from her post, that was you?”

Tommy nodded. “I can make myself invisible as well as anything I’m touching or holding,” he said. “I flew down there, cut her rope, and grabbed her. That’s why she went willingly with me downstairs. She recognized my voice. She knew I’d saved her.”

“You can make things invisible?” Felicity asked.

Tommy reached over and picked up an arrow from the bed, and she watched as it disappeared in that same instant. Tommy was still there, but the arrow wasn’t. Then he wasn’t there, but the arrow was, suspended in mid air. She gasped and put a hand to her throat. Tommy reappeared, smiling, and set the arrow back down on the desk.

“How do you do that?” Felicity asked.

“I just have to focus. I couldn’t do it when I was really little, but as I got older, I found strange things happening. I’d think I’d like a cup of water, and one would appear. I’d be in an argument with my father, want to disappear, and then find myself fading out. When Malcolm discovered what I could do, though, that stopped. He wanted me to concentrate and develop all of it.”

“All of it?”

“In addition to disappearing and summoning, I can also unlock things and sense when something is hidden,” Tommy said. “For instance, you’re hiding a book under the bed.”

Felicity gaped. “H-how do you know that?” She felt under the bed with her foot to be certain it wasn’t in sight.

“As I said, I can sense hidden things,” Tommy said. “I also know you can read, but I’ve known that a long time, back from when Adalbert was training me.”

“What?” Felicity asked. She looked past Tommy to Oliver. “How could you… I can’t… There’s no way that’s possible.”

“It’s a long story,” Tommy said. “Malcolm wanted me to have strong magic because he does and because it would reflect well on his bloodline. Unfortunately, we worked _very poorly_ together as teacher and pupil, so he enlisted the only other magician in Zvyozda and told Adalbert to work with me.”

“Adalbert isn’t a magician,” Felicity said. “He’s the librarian, he’s not an angel.”

“There are human magicians,” Tommy said. “In fact, in other parts of the empire, humans look at them as champions, something to stand between them and the angels. Many magicians have angel blood in them, of course, since angels were a weapon created by infusing humans with magic.”

“But just because there are human magicians doesn’t mean Adalbert is one,” Felicity said. “I’ve never seen him perform anything but the lightest kitchen magic.”

“He doesn’t like to,” Tommy said. “He’s ashamed of it, I think. I don’t know why. So he pretends he has no magic, but he does. When Malcolm forced him to train me, I saw it. Another thing is - since I’ve told you the rest - he helped Malcolm save the city from the Skalvians during the last attack.”

“ _What_?” Oliver asked. “No.”

“People forget why the Skalvians left fifteen years ago, but it was because my father and Adalbert did a shield spell. I saw my father afterwards, and he was completely drained. It took him days - _weeks -_ to recover. I thought that’s what he was planning to do again, but when I asked him, he said he can’t do the spell without another magician, and since Adalbert is no longer in the city…”

“So you’re saying that Adalbert saved the city from the Skalvians?” Felicity asked. “And all this time kept that knowledge from everyone while the angels continued to be awful to him? Adalbert? My father?”

“Yes, Adalbert,” Tommy said. “He has magician-caliber magic. I don’t know why he doesn’t use it, but he has it. He and Malcolm saved the city together.”

“If they’re so powerful, why are we still paying tribute to the Skalvians?” Felicity asked. “If Adalbert can do so much magic why isn’t he rescuing himself now?”

“I didn’t say he was a seasoned magician,” Tommy said. “I said he has very powerful magic that he chooses not to use. He is strongly magical. The thing about magical gifts, though, is that you have to develop and use them. It took me six months of practice before I could safely carry an object out of a room with me. When my magic first appeared, I could make my hand fade, but not disappear, or I could, with effort, summon tiny objects from nearby. I worked with Malcolm and Adalbert for a year before I could do what I can now.

“Also, just because you have magic doesn’t mean it’s useful to you. I stopped working on mine because what did I really need it for? I’m Malcolm’s son. I don’t have to steal anything. Whatever Adalbert’s magic is, I don’t know it, and it’s very possible that it’s of no use to him right now.”

Felicity rubbed her palm slowly across her mouth. “Yours is,” she said after a moment.

“What?” Tommy asked. Oliver gave her a considering look, and she rushed on.

“You could rescue him like you rescued that little girl,” Felicity said. “Sneak into the encampment and steal him away. Even if he’s hurt or sick,” she swallowed, “you’re strong - you could lift him.” She put a hand on his arm and grasped it tightly. “You have to do this Tommy! You have to save him!”

“Felicity,” Oliver said. “Wait a minute. We need to think this through.”

“No, we don’t!” Felicity said. “Tommy said it: Adalbert saved the city once. He can do it again!” She gestured frantically at the bed. “I wouldn’t have to wade through these books either. Adalbert could just read them. He already knows Skalvian. We need to get him out of there as soon as possible!”

Oliver held a hand up. “I want to rescue him. I told you it was a priority for me. I’d just like to know what we’re dealing with here so we can put together a plan that will be as safe as possible.”

“Safe! None of us is safe!” Felicity said. “Did you see what the Skalvians did out there today? They’re going to keep killing until we open up the castle gate and invite them to take possession of Zvyozda.”

“I did see it. Up close,” Oliver said. “But I’m talking about Tommy. You weren’t there at the wall today, but I saw how effortlessly they mowed down Alaric today. Here, sit down,” he waved a hand at the bed. “We’ll talk it through.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” Felicity said. “Tommy can do this! You can, can’t you, Tommy?”

Tommy looked unsure. “I probably can,” he said, “but rescuing an old man from inside a guarded encampment is different from taking a little girl tied to a post in an open field while everyone is distracted. All I had to do was fly down there, cut a rope, and take her.”

“Well, all you’d have to do is sneak into the encampment and get Adalbert out of there,” Felicity said. “It sounds simple enough. I bet they have hardly any real security posted because they’re so naturally horrible.”

“Felicity!” Oliver said. “Do you hear yourself?”

“Do you?”

“I’m not sending in a weapon of this caliber,” Oliver turned to Tommy. “I don’t mean to reduce you to an instrument, but I only know of one person who can become invisible and move about unnoticed and steal things, and that’s you. You’re also my friend. I’m not sending you in without completely thinking this through and estimating the risks.” He gestured at Felicity.

“Look, we have an entire city under siege. So far what we know about the Skalvians is that they are invincible in battle. Arrows _bounce off of their skin_. They flattened every village they came to. Ask Tommy. When we went out to survey their route of attack, there was never a sign of prolonged struggle. It was always a slaughter.”

Tommy nodded slowly. “That’s true.”

Oliver continued. “We have a three-pronged plan in motion because we don’t know enough about the enemy. Our fighting forces are still poorly trained. While I want very much to get Adalbert out, I have to think about the rest of the people here who are at risk.

“So, the Skalvians are a terror, and your father is alive in there and could help us, either by reading the Skalvian texts or perhaps by teaming up with Malcolm to use their magic, but only if we get him out of there alive. We need to think of all the complications. I’m not having Tommy killed because we rushed in. _Even for Adalbert_. I have a responsibility to this whole city to keep everyone alive, not just you or him.”

Felicity felt tears sting her eyes. They were so close, Tommy had offered them the only viable solution - a good solution - to their problem, and now they were going to just sit on their hands? She turned and paced the space between the bed and the tall wardrobe. “He is in there,” she said. “Only the gods know what the Skalvians have done to him. They’ve probably tortured or starved him. Tommy can do this, I know he can! And then, when you have him, he can cast the spell to save us all. All of us! Just like you said.”

Oliver came to her and clasped her hands in his. “Listen,” he said. “Stop for a moment and think. Just because we get Adalbert back doesn’t mean this all ends. We don’t know anything about the spell Malcolm says he cast. Tommy didn’t see him do it, did you Tommy?”

Tommy frowned. “No,” he said. “I didn’t. I remember seeing him exhausted after the fact. That’s very clear. Where he was and what he was doing during the attack - I can only go on what Malcolm told me.”

“How much can you trust what Malcolm tells you?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t know,” Tommy said. “He’s very good at keeping secrets, and we know from shakhmati that he plays the long game. He does what he thinks is in his own best interests.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you know, I think he would have let us marry to get you into his house and under his hand. Why does he want you under his control so badly?” He looked at Felicity.

“I...I don’t know,” Felicity said. “I thought perhaps it was because I was his daughter. I mean, after I knew I was his daughter. A part of me always suspected that that was true.”

“Malcolm doesn’t have feelings,” Tommy said, “Or at least he doesn’t indulge them much. Even I was surprised, though, that he would be willing to have his son marry his daughter. He said he wouldn’t have allowed the marriage to be consummated, but…” Tommy grimaced. “Who does that to their children? You were lucky to be raised by Adalbert. I only studied with him for a short while, and he has no love for angels, but he was still better than Malcolm.”

“Maybe Malcolm thought Felicity had magic he could use?” Oliver asked.

“But I don’t have magic,” Felicity said. “Why would he think I have magic - because I was raised by Adalbert?” She paused for a moment, remembering how strangely pleased Malcolm had been to discover her gathering ingredients for that spell, how happy he’d been to give them to her. Suddenly it was clearer. “Because I would have inherited it from him.”

She thought it through. Malcolm had been a presence when she was very young, but after Dally came into their lives, she’d only ever seen him in his official capacity. He’d never shown any interest in her. Their paths had rarely overlapped. It made more sense for him to want her for magic he supposed she might have than as a daughter. He could have had a relationship with her her whole life, if he’d desired it.

She looked up and saw Tommy watching her with a sad look on his face. “I wouldn’t wish Malcolm as a father on anyone. It’s possible my magic manifested itself the way it did because I wanted to disappear so badly.” He looked at Oliver. “Your father gave us that room downstairs, I think, because he knew what Malcolm was like, and he wanted me to have a place to be safe from him.”

Oliver looked stunned. “No,” he said. “It was just for fun. A boys’ hideout.”

“I started seeing it differently a few years ago. You didn’t need a place to hide away. Your house has plenty of rooms, and your parents loved you. _I_ needed a place to go. Angel Robert gave you that room about the time Malcolm began insisting I become the gifted son he deserved.”

“I knew he beat you,” Oliver said slowly. “I suppose my father must have too. I think I remember happier times too, though.”

“He beat you?” Felicity asked.

“Oh, yes,” Tommy said. “It didn’t get really bad until after my mother died. When she and my sister were alive, he was better. She pushed him to be more patient, more understanding. After they died, though, he went away for a long time - to Celestia, I think, and other places. When he came back, he was different. Colder and much more obsessed with power and leaving behind a legacy.”

“A legacy?” Felicity asked.

“Ruling all of Karelia and leaving it to a powerful angel of his lineage. My magic wasn’t good enough for him, so he wanted me to improve it, to see if I could do more.”

“Couldn’t he have remarried and had more angel children?”

“He didn’t want to marry again. I think he loved my mother, and, anyway, he had other children, none of them angels. My sister was the only other angel offspring he sired.”  

“I have other brothers and sisters?” Felicity asked.

“Yes, but most of them likely won’t be interested in furthering the connection. Malcolm provided for his children - if their mothers did just as he asked. Most of them didn’t. Malcolm can be challenging to satisfy.” Tommy’s mouth compressed into a straight line. “All of this, I told you - both of you - because I’m done with my father. He’s not heroic, he’s not admirable. He’s just a powerful angel who thinks nothing of arranging people’s lives like pieces on a board. He can’t save the city by himself, but perhaps you can. I thought if I told you what I knew, that would help.”

Oliver sat on the bed. “Where is the girl now? Still downstairs?”

“Yes,” Tommy said. “I figured it was the safest place for her to be. No one can enter this house if they intend to do anyone in it harm. That’s the blood magic. But no one but you, me, and Sara knows the room even exists.” He looked at Felicity. “Well, I suppose you do too now, but you don’t know where it is or how to get inside.”

“Why did you save her?” Oliver asked.

“Why did I _save_ her?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “You don’t know her, and you’d just seen the Skalvians behead Alaric. He wasn’t a trained warrior, but he was still an angel, and they swatted him like an insect. We all saw it. So why put yourself at risk?”

“Because she’s a _child_ ,” Tommy said. “She’s just a little girl. I couldn’t stand to see her frightened like that.”

“Well, she’s the only one in Zvyozda who’s seen what the Skalvians are up close, so we’ve got to keep her close and protected. Try to get any impressions she has of the encampment, of their strengths and weaknesses from her. No detail is too small.”

“And what about Dally?” Felicity asked.

Oliver turned to look at her. His expression was gentle, but firm. “Put together a care package for him,” he said. “Tommy can reconnoiter the camp beginning tomorrow. Did you see any of them react to your presence today? Hear you or smell you?”

Tommy thought about it. “I don’t think so. They don’t seem to have the heightened senses of animals. Dogs are particularly good at knowing something’s there even when they can’t see it. I didn’t see any of that.”

“Good. You can fly in tighter and tighter circles and see if they pick up on anything. Get Sveta to tell you where in the encampment she saw Adalbert.”

“I already know,” Tommy said. “He’s in the center of the camp, or at least he was.”

“That makes it more challenging,” Oliver said, “but not impossible.” He turned to Felicity. “You can send some food, medicine, and perhaps a small book of magic. Write Dally a letter. But until we know exactly what is happening inside those tents, we can’t attempt a rescue.”

“I could go with Tommy,” Felicity said, thinking fast. “I’m not very heavy. He could carry me in and I could consult with Dally. If he’s hurt, I could help him or I’d know what to bring back later.”

“No,” Oliver said.

“No?”

“No,” Oliver said, “I won’t risk you either.”

“I need to see him,” Felicity said.

“It’s not fair to Tommy,” Oliver said. “He’s not a courier service.”

“If it’s important to Felicity, I could--” Tommy said.

“No. Even if you can, you won’t,” Oliver said. “I _will not have it_. She’s my wife. There is no good reason to put her in danger this way. Magic does not mean invincibility. I think we both know that. Adalbert wouldn’t agree to it either. He made me expressly promise to take care of her. I’ve been up close to the Skalvians, and _she’s_ not ever going to be.”

Tommy nodded and put his hands up. “Whatever you think is best. You’re the soldier.”

“I am.” Oliver sent Felicity a look she supposed was to suppress further comment, and she gritted her teeth. She wanted to argue further. She wanted to see if there was _anything_ she could do to make Oliver push for Dally’s rescue. She thought, after the moment the two of them had just shared together and the heat in his eyes after that kiss, that he cared a little for her. Underneath Oliver’s softening and sympathetic gaze, however, his face held that implacable look. It was the expression of a man who had sent people to die in battle and would do so again, but only when the conditions were right. It was the look of an angel who knew exactly how to count the cost. She had nothing to negotiate with, so she crossed the room to the door.

“May I tell Mila that I can access the stores?” she asked, trying not to sound bitter or petulant.

“Send Adalbert whatever you like,” Oliver said, “but make sure it can fit in a satchel. We don’t want the Skalvians to know anyone has been inside their camp.”

“Yes, Angel Oliver,” Felicity said with false docility. She walked from the room with her back straight and her head high, tired of angels and rank and everything that wasn’t Dally right here in Zvyozda with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have the beginnings of a team. What did you think of Oliver's pulling rank here? I don't think Felicity appreciated it.


	8. Cross Purposes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Oliver have a heart-to-heart talk, and Felicity begins to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to [hungrytiger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hungrytiger/pseuds/hungrytiger) who has left so many thoughtful and detailed comments on this fic and [Pollen Vector](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5963350?view_full_work=true) too. 
> 
> This was a fun one to write. So. Many. Questions. 
> 
> The recipe for the salve is the one I use myself, except I infuse plantain and comfrey in olive oil instead of lard. I add lavender and tea tree oil. It will take pain out and help a sore heal.

Oliver heard the door slam and let out his breath. He looked over at Tommy who raised both eyebrows at him and then looked away. “She’ll calm down,” Tommy said. “I think you should talk to Barry.”

“Barry?” Oliver had only seen him in passing since the night they had returned with Darek, although he knew the younger man was making himself useful training with the other angels.

“He has an ability you should know about. I would not say anything under less dire circumstances. Keeping your mouth closed is the price of having access to plenty of secrets,” Tommy said. “The secret he’s keeping could actually save lives, though. Ask him about what he can do.”  

Oliver nodded absently as he surveyed the room. It seemed larger without Felicity in it. “People can’t know that Felicity can read.”

“I know,” Tommy said. “I won’t say anything. It’s not exactly shocking, though, is it? The librarian’s daughter can read.”

“She can read five languages,” Oliver said.

Tommy gave a low whistle. “My father was right, then. She is a valuable asset. Perhaps she does have magic.”

Oliver shook his head. “I’ve seen her struggle with the Skalvian. She’s spent years studying with Adalbert. I think he wanted humans to have an advantage angels didn’t know about in case some kind of war erupted.”

“So my father is not the only one who wanted a prodigy.”

Oliver winced. “The difference is, I don’t think Adalbert would have forced her to study if she hadn’t had the aptitude. It wasn’t about pride. Or not entirely.” Oliver smiled. “I think he did it for the library too. He doesn’t want his life’s work to have been in vain. He loves her, though. She’s not just a tool to him.”

“Unlike my father,” Tommy said.

“Malcolm’s motives are not easy to understand,” Oliver said.

“Felicity doesn’t like to be told what to do, I’ve noticed,” Tommy said. “She hates being coerced. You should learn from my mistakes because she can make things more complicated than you’d expect.”

Oliver frowned. “Like how?”

“Do you remember that red dress?” Tommy asked. “I wasn’t expecting that. No one at that party was supposed to think of _Donna._  That was never the plan.” He laughed harshly. “My mother wasn’t exactly an admirer of hers.”

“Then why did you take Felicity?” Oliver asked.

“I thought… I wanted Malcolm to stop trying to force me into doing his will. He was trying to get me to marry…” Tommy trailed off and stared down at the desk intently.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“It’s just...” Tommy said.

“What?”

“He was there,” Tommy said. “Malcolm was there when I got the idea to choose Felicity. In fact,” he stopped and closed his eyes, “in fact, we were in the tower and I was looking right at her when he told me I had to marry.” He opened his eyes and looked at Oliver. “What does that mean? He knew she was his daughter, but he put that idea into my head at that moment. I thought I was being so clever and avoiding his trap by choosing someone he wouldn’t want, but maybe - _maybe_ \- marrying Felicity was what he wanted me to do all along.”

Oliver sat down on the bed in the hollow Felicity had created. “Why didn’t he acknowledge her?” he asked.

“Why didn’t he what?”

“Why didn’t Malcolm ever acknowledge Felicity as his daughter? If he wanted her under his thumb, wouldn’t that have been the simplest way?”

“I always assumed Malcolm didn’t because of my mother,” Tommy said. “He didn’t want to shame her.”

“Was Felicity the only illegitimate child he had?” Oliver asked.

“No, but the other women were village girls no one cared about, not even my mother. Or not really,” Tommy said. “Donna wanted him to marry her.”

“ _Marry_ her?” Oliver asked. “But he already had a wife.”

“Clan leaders are allowed more than one, and they can set aside wives if they like,” Tommy said. “You didn’t know that?”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Oliver said, “but none of them do. Those marriages are carefully arranged. They take mistresses, yes, but other wives? It seems so archaic.”

“Like claiming a woman?” Tommy asked, eyes sparked.

Oliver stared at him until Tommy looked away. “I did that to protect Felicity, not because I wanted her as my concubine.” Why didn’t anyone understand that? He barely knew the girl.

“I don’t know why Malcolm never recognized her,” Tommy said. “Why didn’t Adalbert adopt her? He was married to Donna, and he obviously loves Felicity like a daughter.”

Oliver sat and thought. “When did Adalbert get assumed into Ogon? He was an outsider with no clan affiliations at all. He’s not from Karelia. He hated Malcolm and was Waldhar’s slave and then protege. Shouldn’t he have been inducted into Zemlya, then? That was Waldhar’s clan. Was putting him into Ogon Malcolm’s maneuvering?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said. “It was a long time ago, even before the Skalvians came the last time.”

Oliver had heard stories in Celestia. There were stories, and then there were stories; it was hard to know what to believe amongst the tales of witch burnings, sea serpents, maiden sacrifices, and dragons. Still, there was one story about a young magician that had made its way around all of his circles. In the version Oliver had heard, the boy had had great magic until one day he’d misused it tragically. He’d lost his powers and been sold to slavers, doomed to wander the land he could have once conquered easily with a simple spell.

It was the kind of story that sounded fantastical, the kind told by adults to children they did not want getting too reckless or independent, but now Oliver wondered about the slave magician. Was he Adalbert, and had Adalbert put it into his head to claim Felicity? He couldn’t remember. How had he gotten the idea to do that?

And then Oliver remembered.

_He was sitting in the stuffy sitting room on an uncomfortable stool, sliding a salty tikva seed around in his mouth. He and Adalbert were waiting for Felicity to come back from her errand with Tommy, and he was anxious. The room was hot, and Adalbert leaned back in his chair and put a hand on on his chin._

_“You won’t have many options,” Adalbert said, standing up “but a clan leader always has some. It’s the nature of the game. I’ll do a little research. Are you sure you’re up to this?”_

_“Yes,” Oliver said. “I will keep her safe. It’s the least I can do after all of your advice on how to go about saving Zvyozda.”_

_“Well, there’s probably a little loophole somewhere,” Adalbert said. He got up and walked to a shelf where a fat black tabby cat was sitting on a pile of books. “Off!” he said, shooing the cat away. “I haven’t looked through these, but perhaps there’s something in this one.” He handed a book to Oliver. It was a slim volume, amateurly bound._ A Chronicle of Karelia and Its Clans _, it read. “Take it home. I’ll do some research myself.” Then he looked up and his face softened. “Felicity,” he said. “Back so soon?”_

Yes, Adalbert had given him the idea to claim Felicity. Indirectly, but the archaic right of claiming had been on the second or third page of that book, listed under the rights of clan leaders.

“They’ve been maneuvering us this whole time,” Oliver said.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“Your father made a move to position Felicity as Ogon’s without claiming her by making her your wife, and Adalbert did the same to me, placing her in Zemlya under me.”

“Literally under,” Tommy said, and his gaze slid to the bed.

Oliver gave him a bland look. “Did Malcolm arrange for Donna to marry Adalbert?”

Tommy looked confused. “What? No! That was years and years ago. How would I know? I always assumed they married for love or because he was the librarian.”

“The Red Dress married a bald, pot-bellied former slave for love?”

“Who else was she going to marry?”

Oliver tapped his lips with his index finger. “Literally anyone. Her beauty was legendary, as I’ve heard.”

Tommy steepled his hands. “Let me get this straight. You think my father and Adalbert have been playing some kind of strategy game for Felicity all of these years? Why?”

“I don’t know why! But, yes, I do. Adalbert was obsessed with keeping her out of Malcolm’s reach. I thought it was simple protectiveness. I mean, Malcolm’s so devious--”

“Hey!” Tommy said.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, “I know he’s your father.”

“No, you’re right,” Tommy smiled wryly. “He only cares about himself. Why is she so valuable to him, and if she was why didn’t he make a move to secure her before now? It doesn’t make sense. Malcolm doesn’t leave things to chance.”

“That is the question,” Oliver said. “And now both of us are entangled in it. I don’t think she knows anything of this, and that’s probably just as well since we don’t know much more.”

“If they’re up to something, shouldn’t we try to stop them?” Tommy asked.

It was tempting, but Oliver thought it through. “No,” he said. “As long as we’re fighting the Skalvians, we’re all on the same side, and we’ll need everyone we can get to cooperate to defeat them.”

Tommy nodded.

“If we do manage that,” Oliver said, “then we’ll see how this plays out for certain. You’ll have to do what you can to make sure neither of them can control Felicity and make her do whatever it is they’ve been positioning her to do.”

“And you too, since Felicity is your _wife_.” Tommy raised an eyebrow, and Oliver remembered his earlier anger and declaration. Had that been only an hour ago?

“I said that, didn’t I?”

“Very emphatically. You know she doesn’t think this is a marriage.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to do?” Tommy asked.

Oliver glanced at the bed again, remembering Felicity, mystery that she was, melting into him when he’d kissed her and moaning. This night had not gone as he’d thought. Not at all. “I’m going to stay busy,” he said, standing and wiping his hand on his tunic. “It’s not like there isn’t anything to do.”

“It’s like that, is it?” Tommy asked, smirking. “Well, try not to bungle it. Like I said, I don’t think she appreciates being ordered.” He put his hands up, “Not that you’re wrong. Adalbert would flay both of us alive if we put her in danger.”

The threat suddenly had new meaning. “Don’t take her there,” Oliver said, clenching his jaw. “Promise me that.” The thought of the Skalvians having Felicity made his throat close up. “She can thank me later by not being dead.”

“You’ve got to be better with women than this,” Tommy said. “Tell me you’re better with women than this. She’s not going to thank you if you take that approach.” He clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Sleep on it. And then do everything differently. The rest of it? I don’t know. It sounds…”

“Incredible, I know,” Oliver said. “But we have giant white monsters with rock skin camped at the foot of our castle cutting the heads off old people and children. It’s not the same world.”

“That’s true,” Tommy said. “Good night.”

Oliver closed the door behind Tommy and laid down on the bed. He closed his eyes and groaned. What was he doing? He _was_ better with people than this. So why did he want to stuff Felicity in his family’s vault and revoke her access spell forever? None of this boded well for either him or his focus.

Curse all of them: secrets and scoundrels and Skalvians.

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity spent the night sleeping in a large, heavily carved armchair in the corner of Oliver’s hidden room. It was the only place she could think of going that would be away from everyone, especially her “husband.” Also, all of Dally’s things were there, and that was comforting. She wished she could go back to their old house, but even if Anton weren’t there, she couldn’t get there until morning came and the gates between the quarters were open again.

Of course, if she were an angel she could simply fly there, kick the door in, and tell Anton where to relocate his mangy, disloyal carcass, but she wasn’t so she fumed in this uncomfortable chair instead. She had to sit in it sideways, brace her back against an arm, and lean her head against the rock wall because the back was so low. Ridiculous angels and their stupid, ridiculous wings.

She must have fallen asleep, and when she awoke, she didn’t know what time it was. She didn’t care. She was tired of doing what she should, of doing what everyone expected of her. The angelas could gossip and titter without their human entertainment today. She’d work her way through these boxes and come up with a way to rescue Dally. She wasn’t going to sit around and wait for the time Oliver deemed best. Now was the time to save her father from the Skalvians. There was no other time at all.

She opened the first of the boxes Kalina had sent over and found Dally’s clothes mixed in with some books and miscellaneous papers. Dally had been reading a biography of Hannibal, the great Punic military commander, before all of this trouble started. She pulled that out and then took out Dally’s favorite old tunic. She held it to her nose and breathed in. The wool smelled faintly of fish and less faintly of sweat. Normally she would have set it aside to launder, but imagining him fishing all day in the sun made her smile. His head always got so red from the sun. She set it aside to keep with her and rooted through the rest of the box. At the very bottom she found two books on magic.

Felicity had grown up surrounded by books, but Dally had always told her that magic was dangerous and she should avoid the library’s collection. Except for a short period of curiosity when she was about twelve, she had. It hadn’t been too hard. First because many of the books were in the language of the Greeks, which Dally had never taught her. And second, the few spells she’d tried out had resulted in nothing but frustration. What was the point of knowing about things you couldn’t do?

That was before she’d learned her natural father was a great magician, however - and Dally too, apparently. Her whole life she’d been surrounded by magic, and she’d never known it. Since Tommy was magical, wasn’t it possible that she was too? If she could make herself invisible, she could find Dally herself and free him. She held her hand in front of herself and tried to render it invisible with her mind. It only gave her a headache.

She opened the first book, a history of magic. She read the Latin methodically and soon realized it would not be helpful. There was a reason Dally had it - it was a screed about the evils of spellcasting and the men and women who indulged in it. She thumbed through the rest of it quickly but carefully. You never knew what useful information someone in a frenzied tirade might drop, but soon it was clear that this writer was a moralist and not a very interesting one at that.

The second book was older and smaller. It was a personal account - someone’s diary essentially -  of someone who’d been wealthy. The vellum was very fine, and the book had been carefully bound and kept. Inside there were sketches of plants and phases of the moon, recipes, and longer entries that looked like bits of history or personal records. This one she would keep and read. Perhaps one of the spells Adalbert had taught Tommy would be in here.

She opened two or three other boxes and found them full of domestic items, but the fourth box held her herbal supplies. Kalina had wrapped her vials and bottles in cloths, and Felicity felt grateful to her friend for taking the time to keep these precious things safe.

What had Oliver told her to do? Put together a package for Dally. It had seemed a paltry thing to do for her father, but now she determined that he should have what he needed, whatever that was, if and when Tommy located him.

Dally suffered a number of aches and pains left over from his days as a slave, and Felicity made up a special salve for him to make it more bearable. In a jar on the right side of the box was some lard she’d infused with waybroad. She’d picked it in the spring during the Rodonitsa festivities. She and Dally had gone to Ryn to celebrate, even though neither of them had family in that village, so they couldn’t visit the graves of their ancestors with plates of honeyed kuchiya and mugs of ale. Instead she’d taken the time to walk through the meadows looking for tender shoots of waybroad as they worked their way out of the soil and stretched for the sun. In the spring waybroad was at its most potent, and picking it on a holy day - when the ancestors peered up from Nav through the newly dug soil - was best.

She had filled a jar with the waybroad and some dried knitbone, poured melted lard over them and warmed them in a pocket of the tall masonry oven in their dacha for days. When the lard turned a lovely green shade, and the plant material became brittle, it was ready. She then added beeswax to make it firmer, and poured that in Dally’s jar while it was still warm. She’d rendered much more lard than she’d had beeswax in Ryn, though, so she’d stored it in this jar and kept it in a cool place. And here it was. She just needed to find somewhere to melt it.

Felicity fumbled through the box and found a slab of beeswax and a knife. She took the jar and a tin as well and opened the door. She would have to ask Mila when would be a good time to use the oven in the kitchen. When she entered the hallway, she discovered she was not alone. The little girl from yesterday was peeking out from a door she’d never seen before, and Felicity stopped and looked at her.

“Sveta?” she asked. “Is that you?”

The girl opened the door a crack wider so that Felicity could see her dirty hair and thin face. Behind her Felicity saw the glow of an orange coal and she heard a distinctive pop. She had an idea.

“Do you have a hearth in there?” she asked.

The girl glanced over her shoulder and then hesitantly nodded.

“Do you think I might use it?” Felicity asked. “I have to make a salve for my father. You could help me, if you like.”

Sveta bit her lip, but then she nodded. She held the door open further. Felicity took the opportunity offered and entered Tommy and Oliver’s old hideaway.

Inside the room, she could see where the girl had been sleeping. There was a nest of blankets on one of the lower bunks. On the hearth a long line of marbles had been placed in the grooves between the bricks, and there were cards scattered on the table. Felicity went to the fireplace and set her supplies down. The heat from the coals warmed the entire room, and she knew that the task would not take too long. She made herself comfortable on the floor.

“I have to grate off bits of this beeswax,” she told Sveta. “Then we’ll melt it all together.” She noticed the skin around the girl’s wrists was broken and bruised. “That looks like it hurts. Let me put something on it.”

Sveta stepped hesitantly forward and held out a wrist, and Felicity patted the floor beside her. When Sveta was seated, she scooped out some of the lard from her jar and rubbed it into her wrist. Sveta’s eyes opened wider.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Felicity asked. “Dally loves this stuff. He says it helps him sleep even when he has the worst pain. My mother taught me how to make this. It’s not very hard.” She rubbed the lard into the girl’s other wrist. “Would you like to help with the wax?”

Sveta nodded again. “Do you have a knife - and perhaps a plate?” Felicity asked. Sveta went to a large chest and dug through it. She held up a small knife and a little bowl.

“Excellent,” Felicity said. “Here, you hold the bar like this, and you scrape the knife across it, away from you. Never toward.” Felicity positioned the bowl underneath. “Scrape the shavings into the bowl. I’ll get the fireplace ready.”

There was a small iron grate set up over the coals already, and a crane with a hook for a kettle. Felicity filled the tin with a large dollop of the infused lard and then set it on the grate. She stirred the coals to get the fire going again, and the lard began to seep around the edges.

Sveta whisked her knife over the wax again and again in a steady rhythm. “This is the dull part, the grating,” Felicity said. “Let me know if you get tired of it.” Sveta shook her head. Felicity leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment. Dally was waiting.

When she opened them again, she realized she’d nodded off. Sveta’s little bowl was full of wax shavings. Felicity blinked hard. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I must have fallen asleep.”

Sveta smiled and pushed the bowl towards Felicity. “Very nice,” Felicity said. “Would you like to put them in the tin?” She looked at the grate. The lard was fully melted. “You need about equal parts lard and beeswax,” she said. “If you want the salve to be firmer, add more wax. I can’t send very much, so I want it to last, in case.”

Sveta pushed herself up on her knees and looked into the tin. She picked up the bowl and tentatively dropped a pinch of the wax into the lard.

“Watch it melt,” Felicity said. “Usually I put lavender oil in as well. It’s healing and it makes it smell nice. Wait a minute. I’ll see if I have any.” She stood and went out the door leaving it open. She walked about ten paces and looked for the nearly invisible shallow in the wall. Putting her hand on it, she said, “ _Otkroysya_ , “ and the door opened. Inside her torch was still burning, and Felicity looked through the box until she found her small box of oils. She picked up and went back to Sveta.

“These are my oils,” she said, opening the box and uncorking one. “See? Lavender. Smells good, doesn’t it? It will relax you if you’re nervous.” She corked it and set it carefully on the hearth. “Some of the other ones are hard to get and expensive.” She uncorked the cinnamon oil. “The angels fly this in from the Far East. It smells delicious - musky and sweet.” She held it up to Sveta’s nose, and the girl breathed it in and smiled.

“I’ve got others too.” She held them up one by one: “Elf leaf oil, thyme, lemon, pine, and mint. Rose oil smells heavenly, but we can’t afford it.” When the wax melted into the lard, she took a spoon and gave it to Sveta. “Stir it gently.” Then she uncorked the lavender oil again and poured a very thin stream of it into the tin. The smell wafted up, and Sveta closed her eyes and made a moan in her throat.

“Now we take this off the grate and let it cool,” Felicity said. She reached over and took Sveta’s wrist. “Ah, this is looking better already. I’ll leave some salve with you here and you can put it on again later. Are you having nightmares?”

Sveta’s eyebrows raised.

“You are, aren’t you? No one would blame you.” She reached over and gently touched Sveta’s neck. “Rub a little salve here before you go to sleep, and it will chase the night demons away.”

Sveta curled her fingers around Felicity arm and looked up at her. Tears filled her eyes, and she mouthed, “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome,” Felicity said. “Perhaps you could help me too. Tommy said that you have seen my father. He is the one the Skalvians are holding, the older man.”

Sveta made a frowny face, folded her hands, and sat forward, and Felicity realized she was mimicking Dally. “Yes, yes!” She reached for Sveta’s hand. “I am so worried for him. He’s been gone almost a week now, and I’m afraid he’s starving or in pain.”

Sveta shook her head firmly.

“Did they feed you?” Felicity asked.

Sveta nodded.

Felicity let out a breath. “How many times did you see him?”

Sveta paused to think and then held up two fingers.

“Twice? Well, if you saw him twice he can’t be bleeding to death. Was he bleeding to death?”

Sveta shook her head again. She put her hand on Felicity’s and stroked it slowly. Felicity breathed in slowly and tried to calm herself down. She was almost to what she needed to know. “If I drew out the way the tents look from the castle, do you think you could show me where they are holding my father?” she asked.

Sveta nodded with certainty and gave a small smile.

Felicity let out her breath in one long exhale. She was one step closer to where she needed to be.


	9. Swift Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm has a strong reaction to Tommy's revelation of Felicity's parentage which offers a glimpse, or two, into his mind. Oliver goes to Barry for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter. If it's any consolation, I finished two this weekend, so I can put the next one up sooner. I dedicate Swift Repercussions to [Punchdrunkdoc](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Punchdrunkdoc/pseuds/Punchdrunkdoc). Thanks for your enthusiasm about this fic!
> 
> I really enjoyed the research on Slavic mythology - and particularly on Mokosh - that I did for this chapter.

The following morning Oliver was eating his kasha with Tommy at the long table in the dining room when Mila waylaid him. “Angel Oliver, I’m afraid we have a problem,” she said. Her forehead was creased, and she was rubbing her thumb into the palm of her other hand.

He put down his spoon. “What is it? Is it about the meeting with the Council of Angels today?”

“No, Angel Oliver,” Mila said. “The great room will be prepared. This is a much bigger problem. The food stores are being used much faster than we predicted. We will either have to come up with something else for these people to eat or cut the ration in half.”

“In half?”

“I’ve been in the storeroom all morning, making calculations. I don’t know if people are stealing food or if we didn’t calculate correctly before, but at this rate will will not have enough to get us through Radegast’s Day.”

“What about the gardens?”

Mila shook her head. “Those were meant to be extra and for seasoning. Yes, they’re producing, but they’re picked nearly clean as soon as anything is half ripe.”

Tommy looked up from his place down the table and gave Oliver a meaningful look. “Talk to Barry,” he said. Felicity came in through the open door with a bowl of kasha. She saw Oliver and turned away.

Oliver got to his feet and moved to intercept Felicity before she left the room. He placed a hand on her her upper arm. “Felicity,” he said, “I need you to be here this afternoon. The clan leaders are gathering, and the meeting must go smoothly. We will be discussing the situation in the city.”

Felicity tensed and turned to stare at him. “I’m afraid I will have to decline the honor of hosting for you,” she said. “I have other duties to occupy me just now.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Tommy suppress a smile and look down at his kasha. Mila only looked confused.

“Besides,” Felicity said, “I don’t see how it matters who stands next to you. It’s not like any of the council know or like me anyway.” She brushed a piece of lint off of the sleeve of her kirtle and shook her hair back.

“You’re my wife,” Oliver said, “We need to present a united front. The best we can hope for is to appear strong. They were all present when we--”

“You mean, when _you_ \--”

“--so if you aren’t there…” he trailed off and watched her reaction. She was still ramrod straight. “I could use your help. I need the Council to be in a receptive mood, and I’d like you to observe them carefully. I trust your judgment.”

“That’s not what you told me last night.”

“Adalbert is another story. You care about him too much to see why I am right.”

“I don’t know what you think this is,” Felicity stepping nearer and whispering, “but I never promised you anything. I don’t owe you my allegiance or my obedience, so if you think you can order me about--”

Oliver noticed the people surrounding them begin to take notice. He grabbed her shoulder gently and tugged her over into a corner of the room.

“You do owe me your allegiance,” Oliver said gently. “You were born in Zemlya, and you live in Zemlya. I am the clan leader of Zemlya.” He then took both of her hands in his. He tried to curl them over his, but she held them out stiffly. “I don’t want to order you to do anything; however, I need your help, and I’m asking for you to give it to me. Please.” He lifted her rigid hands to his chest. “Go put your red dress on, have Mila put your hair up, and we will face them together. I don’t have any connections I can call upon in Zvyozda. That leaves this clan at a real disadvantage. I could tell Mila to come and serve, but it will not have the same impact as my wife standing beside me.”

“But I’m not an angel! I’ve never been anyone in the castle,” Felicity said. “I’m completely unimportant. Everyone knows that.”

“You’re Zemlya’s angela, and as of yesterday, Malcolm’s natural daughter. Everyone except Malcolm, you, and I will be wondering what those two events have to do with each other and if any old alliances will hold.”

Felicity looked startled. “Did you…”

“It wasn’t my idea for Tommy to tell them, and I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but it’s given us something we can use,” Oliver said. “If you can’t do it for me, do it for the children here who will die if we can’t evacuate them from Zvyozda.”

“Evacuate them?” Felicity asked. “Why would we want to put them back where the Skalvians can kill them?” she asked.

“Because being behind castle walls is only better if you’re not starving to death. The stores are running low. I need to convince the council that angels must help carry people out.”

Felicity opened her mouth to answer, but a commotion arose in the hallway. The children playing there scattered, and a few of the younger ones ran into the dining room. Malcolm came striding in behind them. He was dressed in a finely tailored indigo tunic, and his expression was furious. Oliver stepped nearer to Felicity, in case Malcolm was here to cause trouble for her.

It wasn’t Felicity Malcolm had come to see, though.

“Tommy,” he said, marching over and grabbing Tommy by his shirt, “what lies have you been spreading?”

“Lies?” Tommy attempted to pull away, but Malcolm seized him by the neck and dragged him to his feet.

“Yes, lies,” Malcolm said. He looked over his shoulder at Felicity, and Oliver saw her face go pale. “It seems you’ve been telling tales to the angelas of Zemlya. This disrespect is beyond what I will tolerate.”

Tommy’s hand clutched the one around his neck. “Father--” he said.

“That’s the last time you will call me that,” Malcolm said. “As I have the requisite angel witness,” he nodded curtly at Oliver, “this will be official. I disown you. Do not return to Ogon or to my house.”

“Father,” Tommy said again, “you can’t. I’m your only angel child. We all know how much you care about your human children.” He yanked Malcolm’s hand from his throat.

Malcolm smiled coldly. “I have Ava now.”

“Ava?” Tommy said. “She’s not--”

“She stays with me,” Malcolm said. “But you will remove your women and your bastard children from our women’s quarters.”

Tommy looked startled. “How will I take care of Svetka and Vova?” he asked, his voice rising. “I have nowhere else to put them, and we’re in the middle of a siege.”

“That’s not my concern,” Malcolm said. “You can’t save them in any case.”

“But I--” Tommy’s mouth opened and closed. “You want me to _abandon_ them? You’d see your grandchildren starve on Ogon’s streets?”

“I don’t care what you do with them. I care that my worthless son is trying to deceive all of Zvyozda.” Malcolm looked pointedly at Felicity, and Oliver heard her small gasp. “So I am rectifying that now. Get them out of my house.”

“Malcolm,” Oliver said, stepping towards him, “surely--”

“You won’t change my mind on this, Oliver,” Malcolm said. “And stop shielding Felicity. She has nothing to fear from me. On the contrary, as her mother’s daughter, I will always care what happens to her.” A tiny smile hovered over Malcolm’s lips, and Oliver stared at it transfixed. He glanced at Tommy who was leaning both of his arms on the table, his body slumped.

Oliver swallowed.  “Are you coming to the meeting?” he asked.

“I’ll return later,” Malcolm said, and Oliver realized he was in Zemlya because it was _here_ that the gossip about Felicity had originated. He was cutting it off at the root. “Tread lightly. The fact that you are her husband now won’t gain you any favors from me.”

He nodded then and left the room completely silent in his wake.

  


>>\--->

  


Felicity watched Malcolm’s black-tipped wings clear the tall door frame before she could react, then on instinct she rushed to the hallway and caught him by the sleeve of his tunic. He turned, frowning, and then, seeing who it was, raised an eyebrow. Felicity felt suddenly self-conscious, and she almost pulled her hand away. Anger stopped her, though, and she straightened and asked, “What was _that_?”

Malcolm looked taken aback, but then he smiled. “That?”

“What you said to Tommy. You’re declaring that you’re _not_ my father, then?” Her fingers curled tighter around the material of his sleeve. This seemed like an oddly important question. Why did she care so much to know the answer?

Malcolm’s smile disappeared. He twisted his arm free from her grasp, clutched her shoulders, and stared into her face. There were a number of people still in the hallway, and Felicity knew that all attention was on the two of them, but their faces and the walls themselves receded from her vision. All she could see was Malcolm’s face looming over hers. The light here was dim, but his blue eyes sparked anyway.

“No one can say who your father is, Felicity,” he said. “Only your mother knew, and she is gone.”

She flinched from his words as if she had been slapped, and Malcolm’s expression gentled. He touched her cheek with the palm of one hand, and her vision faded out. Darkness surrounded her, and she felt instinctively that she was no longer in the hallway, that she was no longer even herself. Who was she?

_She looked around, saw a flickering light, and heard a wailing cry. She was standing in a dark room, and a lovely blond woman lay on a bed nearby. Felicity looked closer and realized the woman was her mother, but Donna was much younger than Felicity ever remembered her being. She looked exhausted at the moment, and the linens underneath her were soaked with blood. A moment later someone laid a tiny baby in Felicity’s arms with the words, “Your child, sir.” She cradled its head and stared down in pleasure at the infant’s face. A thought passed through her mind: “You are mine, and you are magnificent.” Felicity took a knife and pricked the index finger on her hand. It was large and strong, masculine. She realized in that moment that what she was seeing was not happening to her. It was only a memory - Malcolm’s memory - and she was reliving the moment of her birth? She watched as her hand mixed the womb blood already in the baby’s hair with her blood, made a circular motion, and murmured something. A feeling of deep satisfaction came over her. She closed her eyes to take in the perfection of this moment. The baby sighed in her arms, and she kissed its head._

Felicity opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor of the hallway. Tommy and Oliver were bent over her in concern, but Malcolm had disappeared, taking with him any answers he might have given her about his actions and the vision he had pressed upon her.

  


>>\--->

  


Tommy was slapping her face lightly, and Felicity grabbed his wrist. “Do you have to do that?” she asked in irritation. He looked relieved, but he was still very pale. Behind him Oliver said, “Upstairs. Now.” He scooped Felicity up and began ascending the staircase. She wanted to wiggle out of his arms, but whatever Malcolm had done to her had drained her of energy. Had she really just seen his memory of her birth? That had definitely been Donna in her vision, and the dim room had been familiar too. It was a room in the house with the yellow door.

Oliver and Tommy trudged upwards until they reached the top floor. When they were all in Oliver’s room, he closed the door behind them. “That was interesting,” he said, placing Felicity gently on the bed. “Tommy, you’ll bring your children and their mothers here, of course.”

Tommy sagged in relief. “I couldn’t,” he said, although it was obvious he would.

“Don’t be an ass,” Oliver said. “Put them in the secret room with Sveta. I’ll have Mila give them a ration. You might think before you open your mouth next time to spite your father, though.”

“What next time?” Tommy asked. “You heard him. I’m disowned.”

“I wouldn’t take that too much to heart. For whatever reason, it’s important for Malcolm to let it be known that he’s not Felicity’s father.”

“But he is! He told me he was,” Tommy said.

Felicity wrapped her arms around herself on the bed and stared down at the floor. Oliver sat down next to her and put a finger under her chin, turning her face to his. “You don’t take that too much to heart either,” he said, “whatever Malcolm is doing now, it’s not because he dislikes you or is ashamed of you.”

“Why is he doing it, then?” Felicity asked angrily. “How am I supposed to react when he absolutely denies me in front of a roomful of people? In front of my brother? In front of my--you. Tommy has to have been wrong.”

“I wasn’t wrong,” Tommy said. “I asked him straight out if you were his daughter, and he said yes. He looked pleased, in fact. Proud.”

“Then why would he declare so adamantly that I’m not?” Felicity asked. “Not that I want to be anyway.”

“I don’t know why,” Tommy said. “I don’t know why he does anything he does. How could he throw his grandchildren into the street without a thought for their welfare?”

“Malcolm knows they won’t starve, or at least they won’t starve sooner than the rest of the castle. He thinks he knows me and what I will do,” Oliver said. “I can’t help but wonder if this was a performance. All of this - everything he’s done since I came back - has been about Felicity.” Oliver looked her in the eyes. “He wants you. It’s clear he does. As soon as he thought Dally was out of the way, he moved to put you under his power and protection. He sees you as an asset. It would be easier to control if you were his daughter, yet he chooses to deny you. Why would it be better for him not to acknowledge you?”

“It wouldn’t,” Tommy said. “It’s not like she’s a witch or some kind of magical creature like a vila or a rusalka. She’s a human girl with a high ranking angel for a father. It doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

“Unless?” Oliver asked.

Tommy looked uncomfortable. “To understand my father,” he said, “you have to understand that he has an exaggerated sense of his own importance. He believes he’s destined for greatness and that his name will be ‘remembered always in Karelia.’”

Felicity frowned. “What does that have to do with having a bastard daughter?”  

Tommy sat down at the desk and traced a finger over the grain in the wood. “This is going to sound crazy. Just remember, I’m not the one who believes it…”

“Tommy,” Oliver said.

Tommy sighed. “A long time ago Malcolm had some kind of audience with someone ‘mystical.’ A priest, an oracle, I can’t say. He tells the story differently. It might have been a fortune teller at a carnival. This person told Malcolm that from his line a new Karelia would come into being, and that ‘the feuding brothers with hardened hearts will be united again.’ I don’t know who would believe that kind of obvious flattery and invention except for, well, my father.

“In any case, I’m sure that’s why he thought that _my_ magic would be so powerful, and why he was so disappointed when it wasn’t. He doesn’t have any other angel children, and none of his human children have been out of the ordinary.”

Oliver coughed.

Tommy glanced up and then looked abashed. “Except for you, Felicity, of course.”

Felicity tried not to roll her eyes. “If he thinks I’m destined for greatness, wouldn’t he _want_ people to know that I’m his daughter?”

Tommy shifted in his chair. “If he thought he could take the credit, yes. Obviously he doesn’t. Knowing my father, I’d have to say he thinks that if he claims you as his daughter, something bad will happen. It’s the only thing that could explain his complete overreaction, and that would mean that he’s even more insane because...well, it’s like a folktale, isn’t it?”

The elements in this explanation came together for Felicity, and she laughed. “You mean, like Mokosh?”

“Mokosh?” Oliver asked.

Tommy compressed his lips. “I think so, yes.”

“He thinks _I’m_ Mokosh?” Felicity asked.

“Or something like that,” Tommy said.

Oliver looked impatient. “What do you mean he thinks you’re Mokosh? What story is this?”

Felicity looked at him in irritation. “How can you have grown up in Karelia and not know about Mokosh?”

“Well, it’s peasant religion, isn’t it?” Tommy asked. “House magic, women’s superstition?”

“No!” Felicity leaned over and smacked his leg. “Superstition. Don’t be insulting.” She took a deep breath. “You know about Matka Zemlya already?”

Oliver nodded.

“The Earth Mother, wise and loving. All life comes from her. She’s very important,” Felicity said. “I know you angels think you have no need for religion since you are strong, rich, and powerful, but even you came from Matka.

“Matka has a handmaiden: Mokosh. Because Matka is everywhere around us and is busy creating new life, she sends her daughter Mokosh out to be her hands. The little miracles you see around you every day, those are Mokosh’s acts of mercy, done in Matka’s name. When a hen lays an egg in the dark of winter or a baby stops crying from the croup; when a lamb is found and brought back safe - we know to thank Mokosh and Matka because they care.

“The oldest stories say that one day Matka’s people will be divided and in danger of annihilation, and, for that, Matka will send Mokosh as a girl to be raised among them. No one will recognize her until she has done her work. She will have no father, no mother, no clan, and no name of her own so everyone will know to whom to give thanks. If any warrior or clan leader tries to claim her as his own, Matka will summon her back before her work is done. Matka does not demand sacrifices, but she wants her people to know whose help has saved them.”

“What is Mokosh supposed to do?” Oliver asked.

“No one knows exactly,” Tommy said. “In some stories she is a fighter, but in most stories, she’s a helper.”

“The boys in my village always used to say that none of this could be true because why would Matka send a girl when a man could do so much more?” Felicity smiled. “And the girls would say, ‘Why send a man when real work has to be done? A man will eat, fight, and brag all day, and then sleep all night.’ We used to fight about it whenever the story was told.”

“Did they believe any of it?” Tommy asked.

“Lots of them did,” Felicity said, “There was even a little song the girls sang:

 

Human girl, she takes flight

To save her land, but not by might.

Nameless Mokosh come to aid

In time of trouble, Matka bade.”

 

Felicity sang it from memory, feeling a little foolish when the last notes died away. It was a childish song with a silly melody. She looked and saw both men smiling at her. “I never believed it, though. How could Matka be without her handmaiden for so many years? Her people need our little miracles now, and when has Karelia ever had peace and prosperity so long they could do without her?

“Besides, I’ve seen plenty of Mokosh’s work, and not just small things. My mother, when I was little, healed a woman in the village who’d sliced her arm open on a scythe during the rye harvest. I helped hold the woman’s arm while Mama stitched the wound. It healed perfectly without even a scar, and Mama said that was the work of Mokosh.”

Oliver was still smiling. “It’s a lovely story,” he said.

“There’s no way that it’s true, though,” Tommy said. “Still, my father has never let reality stand between him and his own importance.”

“I agree,” Felicity said. “I’m not Mokosh, and Malcolm is, in all likelihood, my natural father. I’m not nameless or motherless either, and this is just another bad time for Karelia. It’s not the end of days, requiring Matka’s intervention.”

“Well, whether you are or you aren’t, my father’s always been one to hedge his bets. Who needs a angel son when you can have a goddess daughter?” Tommy asked bitterly.

“Oh, Tommy,” Felicity said, “I’m sure whatever strange reason Malcolm has for all of this, it can’t involve the gods. He’s just angry because you embarrassed him. He’ll come around.”

“What do we do now?” Tommy asked. “Since my father has denied her, Felicity won’t be much help to you in your meeting with the other clan leaders.”

“I think you underestimate both your sister and the calculations that are being made in Zvyozda right now,” Oliver said. He looked at Felicity. “Will you stand with me? No one knows what any of this means, but no one will be able to deny Malcolm has an interest in you.”

Felicity thought about it hard. She didn’t really want to help _Oliver_ , but she did want to keep the people in the castle safe and help evacuate the refugees if that would keep them alive longer. She certainly hadn’t taught little Sveta how to make a salve so she could die now.

Before she could say anything, Tommy leaned over and asked, “What did he say to you?”

Felicity raised her eyebrows. “What did he say?”

“In the hallway,” Tommy said. “You fainted. Malcolm must have said something to you. You were fine in the dining room.”

“I’d like to know too,” Oliver said. “I saw him leave, and he looked almost smug.”

“That’s his usual expression,” Tommy said. “Also he’d just managed to unlade five mouths from Ogon’s rations and humiliate me. A good morning’s work.”

“Felicity?” Oliver asked.

She didn’t know what to say about the strange vision, but she didn’t know what the use of keeping the information from them would be. “He stared at me, and for a moment, I think I was him. I know what that sounds like.”  

“You were him?” Oliver asked, but Tommy looked unsurprised.

“I think...I think he showed me the moment of my birth. I was holding a baby, anyway. My mother was there, and Malcolm was pleased.”

“He likes babies,” Tommy said. “They can’t talk or move independently, so they rarely disappoint him.”

“He did some strange thing with his blood on my - the baby’s - head,” Felicity said.

Tommy sat back in his chair and sighed. “You don’t seem incredulous,” Oliver said.

“He’s a magician,” Tommy said. “I’ve seen his memories once or twice before too. He’s very versatile, and he knows blood magic.”  

“Well, blood magic or no, and Felicity’s father or not, we need his cooperation to get people out of Zvyozda, so I’ll ask one more time: Will you help me at the council meeting, Felicity?”

“I suppose I’ll have to,” Felicity said. “Malcolm shouldn’t get to play with all of us this way, and I want to keep all of the people I care about here safe.”

Oliver nodded at her, and she wished in that moment she knew what the rules were to this game they were playing.

  


>>\--->

  


Oliver sought out Barry shortly thereafter and found him training with Darek and some other angels in the square. He wondered what Tommy knew. Barry didn’t seem very imposing or threatening, but magic could be funny. He’d seen it manifest itself in surprising ways before.

He pulled Barry aside. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Yes. Mmhmm,” Barry said. He tried to put his sword away and was distracted by how it didn’t seem to fit in his scabbard. “What do you need?”

Oliver took the sword and slid it into the leather sheath. “Let’s fly somewhere no one can overhear us,” he said. He looked up at the series of towers that made up Zvyozda’s silhouette. “How about there?” He gestured to the beacon.

Barry nodded and they both took off for the beacon. When they’d reached it, Barry perched on the ledge of the arched structure and looked expectant.

Oliver went directly to the matter. “Tommy told me I should ask you about any abilities you might have,” he said. “He said he thought you might be able to help the castle and its people in some way.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “I, uh…I’m not sure,” he said, “I…”

“If it’s something you’d rather not be generally known,” Oliver said, “I assure you, I’ll do whatever I can to keep it secret. We are looking at a great number of dead, though, if we don’t take some steps very soon.”

“A great number?” Barry asked. “How many?”

“My housekeeper tells me our food will be gone by Radegast’s Feast if we don’t do something. And there are rumors of camp sickness in Veter.”

Barry sighed and closed his eyes. “That’s only a month away.”

“I know this isn’t your responsibility,” Oliver said. “You could fly away tonight--”

“I would never fly away,” Barry said emphatically. “I’m not going to leave Zemlya to the Skalvians. I just…”

Oliver waited, and eventually Barry sighed again and looked him in the eye. “I’m really fast,” he said.

“Fast? Like you can fly quickly?”

“Fly, yes, but everything else too. It’s a talent. I can do anything at an extremely fast rate: run, fly, read, anything.”

“How fast?”

“So fast you can’t even see me do it,” Barry said. “I’ve had this ability for a few years now, but my parents had me keep it entirely secret.”

Oliver nodded. “I understand,” he said. “I have something too - an intuition that helps me know what to do. It’s not as dramatic or as useful, but it has kept me alive.” He thought for a minute. “If you can do anything really fast, do you think you could get the harvest in? The wheat is sitting out in the fields. It’s probably too late for the barley and the oats, but if you could cut it, we could fly groups of people out to gather and thresh it. Those groups could be moved on to Ladoga…” He thought about the logistics for a minute. “We’d have to send part of the harvest along with them, but they’d be out of the city. The Skalvians have been sitting on top of us here for days. I think Zvyozda is their goal. We’ve got to evacuate some of these people out of here or we will all die.”

“I’ve never harvested wheat before, or barley,” Barry said. “But if someone were to teach me, I’m sure I could do it.”

“How fast could you work?”

“I could probably harvest a field in an hour,” Barry said. “Since it involves blades, I’d have to be more careful. You have to stop to sharpen the blade of the scythe continually, right?”

“An hour?” Oliver couldn’t imagine it. It took an average man days, even weeks, to harvest his plot of land - usually with his entire family helping to cut it and collect the sheaves.

“I’m fast,” Barry said. “You won’t believe it until you see it.”

“Who can we get to show you how it’s done?” Oliver asked. “We’d need to you start on the plots closest to the castle that are outside of the immediate reach of the Skalvians and then move further out. After it’s cut, we have a little time - unless we get a rainy spell.” He looked at the sky. “Given the weather we’ve had this summer, I’m hoping it will stay dry.”

“How do you know so much about harvesting?” Barry asked. “Didn’t you live in Celestia after you left here?”

“When I was in the Angel Corps, we helped sometimes with rebuilding communities after a raid or a battle,” Oliver said. “We had to do whatever was necessary to reestablish peace on the borderlands. I learned how to do a number of things angels never know. How to plant a garden, how to frame a house, dig a grave, that sort of thing.”

Barry nodded. “Zvyozda was very lucky the day I met you in Celestia.”

Oliver glanced down at the ground and then up again at Barry. “We could send out groups daily, moving them further and further out. They could thresh and then winnow the wheat after it dries, and finally bag it. The angels could bring most of it back here to Zvyozda. Really, if you’re that fast, it might not be entirely too late for the barley. We’ll make a plan for the path you should take, and then I can arrange to send people out to help once your part is done. And we’ll find the right person to teach you.”

Suddenly the situation didn’t seem so bleak. If the meeting with the clan leaders wasn’t disastrous, there might be hope for them all.


	10. Plans in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity appeal to the Council of Angels with their ideas for saving the city, and Tommy does some reconnoitering of the Skalvians' encampment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to mareatsea/olicitymyotp/badkitty2010 who seems to enjoy Angels. Thanks for following this story and [me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/fiacresgirl).

Felicity and Merofled carefully surveyed the great room to make sure everything was in order for the upcoming meeting. Mila, Dobra, and Nadia had brought in two long tables for the twelve men and rearranged the chairs so that the equality of consequence of all of the clan leaders would be acknowledged. This meant no one could sit at either the head or the foot of the table and each leader’s chair had to be equidistant from the ones on either side. The members of the Council of Angels who were not clan leaders could potentially be seated as less ranking, but as all of them were potential archangels, it was not advisable. Each leader’s chair had an additional chair placed slightly to the rear so that wives or other guests could also attend in comfort.

“Thank you so much for helping me,” Felicity said. She felt exhausted, even more so in the heat of the room. Half of Zemlya House was built into the rock, the temperature remaining fairly constant, but the sitting room looked out over the square. Late summer’s light and heat streamed in through the windows. “I’m still so new to all of this, and Oliver believes this is an important meeting.”

“They’re all important,” Merofled said, pulling a face, “or at least everyone on the council always believes so. Since the castle is in jeopardy, this one probably is, though.”

“Aregund didn’t mind you helping me?” Felicity asked.

“I didn’t tell my mother what I was doing,” Merofled said. “I find things go much more smoothly when I don’t.”

Felicity laughed. “You’re funny, Mero,” she said. “Does anyone know that about you?”

Mero shrugged. “A few angels, and a handful of people. When my father was archangel, it was easier on me to attract as little attention as possible. I get overwhelmed otherwise. My mother dislikes that about me, but you can’t make a rabbit into a bear.”

“I like rabbits,” Felicity said, placing her hand on Mero’s arm. “Now what do I need to do?”

Mero walked over to the chair reserved for Oliver and gestured to the one behind it. “You sit when he sits and stand after he stands. It’s not very difficult. Just take his lead.”

“And what do I say?”

Mero sighed. “Normally it would matter more, but since the situation in Zvyozda is becoming so dire, I doubt the other angels will pay attention to any social gaffes. They will likely be too busy arguing to scrutinize what you say.”

Felicity frowned. “Oliver said he needed me here.”

“Oh, he’s right. He does. Everyone at the last meeting saw him claim you, and now there’s the gossip about Malcolm. The other wives will be here. If you’re not, everyone will see him as weak, especially since he’s only been the clan leader of Zemlya for a few weeks. If Malcolm’s daughter supports him, though, it adds to his importance relative to the others.”

“Malcolm denies he’s my father. He came here this morning to tell everyone that he isn’t.”

“I know,” Mero said. “Whispers fly as angels do. But whether you are or you aren’t, the connection has been made now. Why else would Malcolm have wanted you installed in his house? And with Malcolm archangel in all but name and your sudden marriage to the head of Clan Zemlya, that connection is suddenly much more interesting.”

Felicity wanted to argue that she and Oliver weren’t married, but it seemed petty, and she didn’t want to alienate her one angel friend. “So all I have to do is do what Oliver does and not say anything too awful, and I’m helping him?”

“Yes,” Mero said. “That’s about it. It helps that you’re so beautiful too. That also adds to his consequence.”

Felicity’s hand crept up to her neck. “Even with my long hair? I know all of the angelas laugh at it.”

Mero touched one of the braids Mila had wound around the crown of Felicity's head. “Most of them would give up a wing for your hair. It would take them years to grow theirs out. That shouldn’t matter anyway. What’s important is that, despite being dropped suddenly in the midst of all of us, you haven’t flinched, and you haven’t run away. You’re hosting the angelas, supporting Oliver, and you’re trying to help Zemlya. How many other angelas have taken refugees into their homes?”

“That was Oliver,” Felicity said. “They were already here before I arrived.”

“We’ve all seen you with Mila and the families here,” Mero said. “You’ve stood up for your husband as well. You’ve earned your chair.”

“Thank you, Mero,” Felicity said. She bit her lip so the tears forming in her eyes wouldn’t fall. It felt so good to have any of the things she’d done here acknowledged.

Mero bit her lip. “My father told me that not all leading is public or obvious. Sometimes the smaller things you do have more of an effect that the words you shout or the rules you make.”

“I’m so sorry about Waldhar, your father,” Felicity said. “My father - Adalbert - always appreciated what Waldhar had done for him.”

“I am too. He was a kind man,” Mero said. She clapped her hands together. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time for ugly things like grief or self doubt, though. Not now. Later, when this is over, we can sob and moan.” She looked behind Felicity. “And here is your husband.”

Felicity turned to see Oliver dressed in a green silk tunic embroidered with leaves. His hair had been carefully brushed, and he looked unbelievably handsome. His white wings were retracted against his back, and he stood very still. She brushed a hand on Mero’s arm and walked to him. “Everything is ready. Mero has been helping me.”

“Thank you,” Oliver said in a deep voice, a very serious one. “I appreciate your kindness, Merofled.” She nodded and slipped from the room.

Oliver was nervous, Felicity realized. He was. Had she ever seen him nervous before? “You’re worried?” she asked.

“It’s very important that I get the support of the angel council,” Oliver said. “We can’t hope to save these people without that. I think we can expect little from Malcolm, and who knows what Hugo will do? That leaves only Maximilian to help me persuade the rest.”

Felicity felt a wave of pride for him wash over her. It settled awkwardly overtop the layer of resentment about Adalbert, but it eventually found a place. Here Oliver was, a stranger to all of these angels and trying harder than any of them to save both Zvyozda and its people. She resolved to be more generous herself. If he could come here in the middle of a siege and exhaust himself rallying the castle to action, then she could be gracious and play her role.

“You look very fine,” she said. “Quite angelic.”

A dimple appeared in one cheek. “Is that a compliment?” he asked.

“You may take it as such this one time,” she said and smiled back. “If it’s up to us to save Sveta and Mila and Yaroslav and Nadia, we might as well look good doing it.”

He offered her his arm. “We might as well,” he said.

She laid her hand carefully on his, and they went to wait in the hallway for everyone to arrive.

 

>>\--->

 

Malcolm was obviously irritated. This meeting wasn’t going as he’d expected it seemed. Oliver was surprised too. Maximilian was chairing, and the council was actually listening to Oliver’s account of the work they’d done in Zemlya to survive the siege. Of course, he’d already persuaded Voda and Ogon, through Maximilian and Malcolm, to adopt many of the same measures. Still, the meeting was going better than he’d thought it would.

“What are the odds we can win against these Skalvians?” one of the council members, an angel named Siward said. “My wife asks daily if we will lose everything.”

Maximilian said, “The angel corps of fighters Oliver began has been training continuously, but we’ve seen how easily the Skalvians fend off arrows. When they finally attack, I’m afraid it will be a massacre. I would evacuate your family to Ladoga, at least. Mine is leaving tomorrow.”

Many council members nodded. This is what Oliver had been afraid of, so he said, “Before any angels leave, I would ask that we begin flying some of the refugees out away from the castle. I have flown workers out to the fields to harvest the wheat. I think that if we could get some of these people beyond the reach of the Skalvians, the angels could bring in enough to survive the winter. They could continue towards Ladoga, taking grain with them for supplies. It might earn them a better welcome.”

Malcolm’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve been harvesting the wheat?”

Oliver phrased his words carefully as he factored the imaginary timeline they would have needed to do this. It was important to conceal Barry’s involvement. “We began flying out groups at night a week ago. I didn’t want to let it all rot in the fields. We calculated that our food supplies in Zemlya might run low.”

Several council members nodded. “Ours our quickly depleting in Voda too,” Maximilian said. Hugo nodded grimly.

“My angel scouts have said the Skalvians are staying within a 40-verst radius of Zvyozda,” Oliver said. “We have flown out an additional 20 versts so that anyone we evacuated will be safe from harm. We could drop people in fields in all clan sections and save what we can. I think we must consider the crops to the southeast a loss, though, since that’s in the path the Skalvians took. We haven’t seen any more invaders, but I wouldn’t want to take the chance. Much of it is devastated anyway.”

Angels began talking all at once. “If the harvest can be saved, perhaps there is hope we can survive the winter in Karelia,” Maximilian said, talking above them. “Keep the castle, even. When do you think they will attack?”

Everyone looked at Oliver, and he weighed his words. “I’m not certain they are going to attack,” he said.

Hugo and Malcolm looked at each other, and Siward asked, “What do you mean? Do you know something?”

“No, I don’t,” Oliver said. He felt Felicity move in closer behind him, and he raised a hand. “But why haven’t they yet? Based on what we’ve witnessed so far, they could take the castle easily. But all they’ve done so far is execute people and wait. Perhaps they intend to starve us out, take it without a lot of effort. Or perhaps they’re not as strong as they look.”

Malcolm gave Oliver an assessing look. “You think it’s a ruse.”

“I don’t know,” Oliver said, “but I would suggest we do not give up yet. If they take Zvyozda, they will take Karelia. Do you want to lose everything? Ladoga isn’t nearly as fortified as the castle here. The other fortresses in Karelia aren’t either. You can fly there, but the Skalvians will follow. I think it’s better to wait, plan, and see.”

The table erupted in discussion. From Oliver’s peripheral vision, he saw Felicity stand behind him and then felt her hand on his shoulder. Again, Malcolm looked surprised.

“You agree, Felicity?” he asked.

“I support my husband,” she said. Her voice was soft, but firm, and she was looking straight at Malcolm. “The angels are learning to fight again, the escape tunnel is partially cleared, and if we can collect it, we will have food. Why give Zvyozda to them? Make them work for it.”

Malcolm seemed impressed - no, more than that. Satisfied. He nodded. “What do we have to do to get the harvest in?” he asked.

Oliver let out the breath he’d been holding slowly. “We will fly people out at night, drop them in the fields and bring anything already collected back to the city. As they move outward towards Ladoga and other cities, they can take food with them. Several representatives of this council should travel through Karelia to spread news of what is happening here and what the danger might be to them. I was thinking of flying to Ladoga myself, but I’m a new clan leader, and my words would not carry the proper weight.” He looked to Malcolm whose lips twitched in appreciation.

“You’re right,” Malcolm said. “I should go. You come with me, and I will introduce you to Hailwic. I think he will enjoy you. He was once a great admirer of your mother’s. Leave Felicity here, though. I assume you have made provision for her if there is an attack?”

“The House of Zemlya has its defenses,” Oliver said. “As do Ogon, Veter, and Voda, I assume.”  

All of the other council members nodded slowly, looking thoughtful but considerably less defeated than they had when they’d convened this meeting. Behind him Felicity sat down again.

“Let’s talk about sanitation,” Oliver said. “Hugo, there are rumors of insect infestations in Veter and isolated cases of camp fever. Do we have to worry about plague?”

Hugo looked uncomfortable, but after a raised eyebrow from Malcolm, he said, “Yes, there are fleas and of course lice and the usual summer flies, but I think plague is improbable. Even camp fever seems unlikely at this point. We’ve begun to clear areas out and burn any dirty straw or bandages, as you suggested.”

The two other angels from Veter nodded vigorously. Oliver didn’t know them, but they looked like lackeys. “Good,” he said. “Are all of your refugees off the streets and housed now?”

Hugo narrowed his eyes at him. It was clear he didn’t appreciate being questioned, but he nodded slowly.

“Excellent. Shall we move to a more general discussion of health, then?” Oliver asked. “The first thing we need to talk about is how often each quarter is flushing out its sanitation tower into the moat.”

Everyone at the table grimaced except Maximilian, who laughed. “You younger angels are so squeamish. What do you think happens in a siege? More flowers grow?” He looked at Oliver. “We are flushing Voda’s tower with water daily, and we’ve assigned workers to scrub it down as well. I’d rather send our shit below to the Skalvians than keep it in the castle for ourselves.”

Oliver smiled. This was going much better than he’d hoped. He reached behind him and touched Felicity’s elbow in gratitude. In this skirmish, at least, he had not had to do all the fighting on his own. She smiled back at him in secret understanding, and he felt like he could do anything, Malcolm and the Skalvians be damned.

 

>>\--->

 

“We did it!” Felicity said when the last of the angels had left. Surprisingly Malcolm had been the first to go. He’d left with a strange resolve on his face. She wasn’t going to worry about that now, though. They’d bought the people of the castle more time, and that was the main thing. “Is it true about the wheat?”

“It is true,” Oliver said. “It was a sudden development, and I hope to tell you more about it later.”

Why couldn’t he tell her about it now? He was so obscure sometimes, but she wasn’t going to dwell on that. “So it’s possible we might not starve to death before the leaves turn color?” She smiled to soften it.

Oliver’s expression sobered. “You’re not going to starve to death if I have to fly you to Celestia to ensure it,” he said, “but hopefully the others won’t as well. Since Malcolm, Maximilian, and even Hugo have given us leave to use their angels, we will start sending humans out to collect it tonight.”

“It’s much better than I’d hoped,” Felicity said. Then she clasped her hands. “Since everything is looking more hopeful, do you think we could send Tommy out today? To search for Adalbert?”

“Today?” Oliver asked. “We discussed this last night, Felicity. We need to survey the Skalvians for several days before we make a move. And now I’m flying to Ladoga with Malcolm, so I can’t do it.”

Felicity closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I helped you with your meeting,” she said, “and it went better than either of us could have hoped. I would like something in return to show your good faith.”

Oliver opened his mouth and then closed it slowly. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

She shook her head. “I’m not. I need my father back, Oliver - I _need him_. It’s not just that, though. I truly think he could help us.”

Oliver put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “And what will you do if I say no?”

About twenty strategies she’d formulated last night went through her mind. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she had the uncomfortable feeling he could read her mind.

“Tommy won’t take you,” Oliver said. “He knows what Dally and I would do to him if he did.”

Felicity set her jaw.

“That’s not going to stop you, though, is it?”

She didn’t answer. She tried to look like a meek and obedient helpmate, completely trustworthy, but it was too much for her. Dally needed her, and this exasperating angel was only standing in her way. Her chin lifted of its own accord.

“There are rooms in this house that are completely secure and only open to my touch,” Oliver said. “I could put you in one of them.” He stared down at her, his eyes warm and kind. “I don’t want to, but I must keep you safe.”

She felt like kicking him, but she took his hand and returned that gaze, willing him to understand what she couldn’t put into words. Dally was the key. Dally would know what to do. Things would only be right when Dally returned.

Oliver sighed. “Two days. I’ll put angels on watch for two days to observe and have them report to Tommy. It’s his decision. I won’t have his blood on my hands, and if he decides it’s unsafe, you have to accept it. Agreed?”

“Yes!” she said. “Yes, agreed. You won’t regret it. Tommy can find him. I know he can.”

“I know I’ll regret it,” Oliver said. “These are exactly the kinds of decisions you regret, but this is war, and you can only fight the impossible so long.”

Felicity’s hands balled into fists. “We have a plan. We can beat these monsters,” she said. “I believe it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the Skalvians,” Oliver said with a rueful smile. “Now I have to get ready to go with Malcolm. Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, or I will use one of those rooms on you when I get back.”

“I promise,” Felicity said.

“Just don’t die,” Oliver said. “And don’t kill Tommy. That’s all I’m asking.”

She pressed his hand hard. “It’s going to be fine,” she said.

 

>>\--->

 

Tommy watched and noted all of the Skalvians’ movements for two and a half days and made night flights over the encampment as well. Before he’d left for Ladoga, Oliver had spent an hour tediously drilling into Tommy’s head the need to be aware of one’s surroundings and to check all boundaries before entering any dangerous situation. Tommy had made an art form out of sneaking around, though, and he’d almost never been caught. Even Malcolm didn’t sense him most of the time, and he knew exactly what Tommy could do and didn’t particularly care for being observed.

He’d also installed his children Svetka and Vova and their mothers in the secret room with Sveta. The refugee girl had balked at first, unsure of whether they would accept her or she would be the one forced out, but within a half a day, she was carrying Vova around, making him laugh, and helping to feed him. Since Ziva and Milusa hadn’t been pleased to be unceremoniously evicted from their quarters, he was glad Sveta was such a good helper and peacekeeper. He needed to learn from her example and stop creating problems for himself.

Now Tommy flew over the encampment one last time, looking for archers, Skalvians with spears, or anything that might pose a danger. Other than the three guards in front of the encampment and the two walking the length of the castle wall, there was no one paying any attention to what was going on. The encampment itself had been constructed as a long rectangle out of many square tents. It was oddly positioned in a diagonal line running away from the castle out onto the flatter surface of the plain nearly reaching the stump of the great oak the Skalvians had chopped down.

In the center of the encampment was an open courtyard of sorts, and that is where the Skalvians’ hostages appeared to be. Men, women, and children of all ages crowded together in groups, but the atmosphere was not as tense as Tommy would have imagined. Young children ran about, darting from group to group. Four Skalvians were on duty watching the crowd here, but they tolerated the chaos and the noise without comment. Tommy flew low overhead almost close enough for them to hear the rush of his wings, but no one even raised a head.

In the courtyard within a cordoned-off area there was a shallow well and a large covered barrel next to the enormous amputated stump of the great oak the Skalvians had cut down a week ago. Even Tommy knew exactly what a sacrilege that was. The Tree of Life was an oak. Felling the largest oak in the valley was destroying the link between the gods and their people, at the very least symbolically. He didn’t doubt that some of the people in the castle believed literally. It was a particularly cruel gesture to gather these refugees around that stump.  

Every so often someone came and pulled a bucket up from the well and drank from it. An old man with wild hair sat on the ground beside the well. He was carving a figure of Perun, the lightning god, from a segment of the large amputated branch behind him. Stacks of wooden plates and mugs were in front of him, and a woman was scraping bits of kasha from bowls and then washing them. It was an oddly quiet scene for a crowd of hostages, except for the boy who was galloping around the well and trying to befriend one of the Skalvians’ guard dogs. Since Tommy had been observing, this boy had tried to pat the dog on the head three times. Each time the dog looked confused and barked. The third time the Skalvian picked up the boy by his shirt and tossed him across the yard. The galloping stopped.

Tommy glided down into the courtyard silently and landed in the open area before the well. He pulled his wings in so he would not touch anyone and then turned slowly in a circle, watching for any reaction. There was none. He began surveying the faces in the crowd looking for Adalbert. There were five men of roughly his age, but Adalbert did not seem to be present. He moved to the southwest corner where fewer people were - it was the area with the least amount of shade in the mid-day glare - and stood with a shoulder against a tent pole, watching.

Soon the guards began rounding people up. Two of them barked out orders, but the people there didn’t seem especially frightened. Tommy watched them line up and then leave in small groups, returning after a few minutes. It took him about ten minutes to determine this was a routine latrine break. When the fifth group of people left the courtyard, Tommy decided to go with them.

Inside the tents there was a long corridor with closed canvas rooms on either side. It was much quieter here, and thin blond men in white robes walked freely in and out. Tommy couldn’t touch the canvas without people noticing, but as he passed them he began to scan them with his magic, trying to sense anything hidden from view. The long corridor led eventually to the outside of the encampment, but near the end another corridor connected to it. Walking down that one, Tommy realized these were rectangles within rectangles, and the courtyard was another within those. Where would the Skalvians have put Adalbert?

As he walked and observed, Tommy thought it through. If Adalbert were here, if he’d survived, it was because the Skalvians would have viewed him as valuable for his language skills. It was unlikely, then, that they would keep him in one of the outer tent rooms where he might more easily escape. He closed his eyes and mentally pushed his magic out towards the center. After a minute, Tommy sensed him. Adalbert was somewhere in the northwest corner of the encampment.

He crept along this corridor until he reached that place, and he put his hand up in front of the canvas and pushed his way through the barrier. It took longer than he expected, but when he came through the other side, he saw an older man in a dirty gray tunic sitting on a bench. His head was down. A long chain was coiled in the center of the room and one end of it was attached to the man’s bare heel. Tommy smiled in triumph and relief and let himself become visible.

Adalbert raised his head slowly and looked at Tommy. “You’re late,” he said.


	11. Deep Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver travels to Ladoga with Malcolm to find a place for the refugees to go while Tommy and Adalbert ponder the workings of deeper magic and what it means for Zvyozda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long, looooong time since I updated The Angel's Wife, but I am committed to working on it again. I've read through everything - the whole story, the parts I had written to update it, and all of my notes, and then I brainstormed to get a sense of the wider Karelia outside of Zvyozda, since the story will expand to include that as well. 
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to Eilowyn who encouraged to me to start writing this story again and made me some lovely picture collections for inspiration. It's so nice to hear feedback on my stories, especially the good kind. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new chapter! Happy Holidays!

Castle Ladoga sat on top of a promontory point above Lake Ladoga for best defensibility. Its stone walls were impressive, and its view exemplary, but it could not compete in any way with Castle Zvyozda as a fortress. It was situated about 500 versts* southwest of the Sambian Mountain ridge that barricaded Karelia from Skalvia. Far inland from the White Sea, the climate here was warm and humid in the summer, and the angels used Ladoga as a retreat.

Angels had built this castle when they’d conquered this part of the world some 600 years ago. Actively used as a military outpost and protection from the Slavic tribes who had objected violently to their subjugation, it was spartan in appearance. The city that had grown around it in the intervening centuries, however, was not.

Oliver had visited Ladoga many times before as a child, but he hadn’t been there in more than fifteen years. As he and Malcolm approached from the air now, he saw it with different eyes. In the fields surrounding the lake, sheaves of wheat stood drying in the bright sunshine, and the market square stalls were packed with baskets of cabbages, onions, lettuces, and carrots. The city’s festive, summer atmosphere was a jolt after weeks of living under siege in overcrowded circumstances with hungry, dirty people.

Nearly every chetvert of land at the foot of the promontory and around the enormous lake was taken up with shops, docked boats, and narrow, tall houses with landing towers built one on top of the other until the land fell away to marsh on the southern side of the water. Ladoga was not the capital of Ogon, that was Vratislavya, but it was its crown jewel, a place for angels to congregate with their own to shop, to parade themselves, to gossip, and to gamble or invest their money in one of its many merchant ventures.

Oliver spied his family’s house looking somewhat neglected on the eastern shore, but Malcolm gestured and began descending nearer to the point. Malcolm’s house was not the largest or the most elaborate of all of them, but it was one of the oldest, situated at the foot of the promontory and built out of brick from Maroboden and lumber from Veter.

The two of them landed carefully within the confines of the tiny walled garden behind Malcolm’s house. Oliver could smell a lamb roasting somewhere nearby and realized he was ravenous. They’d foraged for wild onions, chokeberries, and mushrooms on the journey and cooked two rabbits on a spit last night, but he hadn’t had a full meal in weeks. “We’ll rest here for the night,” Malcolm said, “and then we’ll see Hailwic in the castle tomorrow. I imagine he already knows I’m here, and his staff is now dusting the statues.”

Oliver had to ask, “The statues?”

“Well, by rights I could demand to stay above Ladoga’s Great Hall, since I’m clan leader of Ogon now. When I’m gone too long, Hailwic tends to think of the castle as his own and forgets his place.”

“Will that be a problem for us?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Malcolm said. “He’s not a bad sort, it’s just that he has a tendency to believe that his opinion matters more than it does. It’s good, in a way, that we’ve come. Since you’re clan leader of Zemlya, you should take this to mind: every so often it’s wise to make your subordinates do things they do not want to do so as to establish who’s in control. Otherwise they begin to believe that they themselves are leaders or even archangels of their own oblasts.” He tilted his head at Oliver. “But you must know that already, having grown up in Celestia.”

“It’s different there,” Oliver said carefully, taken aback by Malcolm’s attitude. He shouldn’t have been, knowing what he was capable of, but his arrogance could be astounding. “Celestia has been both Roman and Frankish through the years. The angels know that if they try to tyrannize the locals, they will appeal again to outsiders or revolt on their own. There are many more humans than angels, after all. Even here.”

“Yes, but angels are far superior,” Malcolm said. “We’re taller, stronger, healthier, longer lived…”

“But not necessarily smarter or braver,” Oliver said.

“True, but one angel can easily take down three men in a fight.”

“There are fifteen men to every angel in Celestia,” Oliver said, “not counting women and children.”

“They can’t want to go back to human rule,” Malcolm said. “There was nothing here before the angels arrived… only a few people, mostly in migratory tribes, hardly settled. They had no architecture of note. There were no plowed fields, no towns, no schools. The humans who were here were busy scrounging for berries and trying to kill each other off.”

That was a bit simplistic, Oliver thought. “The Slezans were trading on the Amber Road six hundred years ago, and the Vistulans were prolific city builders.”

“Is that what they taught you in Celestia?” Malcolm asked. “Because if you look around, you’ll see all of the beauty of _angel_ architecture and _angel_ prosperity. There’s not a single thatched hut for ten versts at least.”

“All of the produce brought to the marketplace is grown and picked by the local people, though,” Oliver said, “including the berries. Angels eat because of the work they do, and, in return, angels are to protect them.”

Malcolm was visibly impatient. “Well, that’s what we’re here to do, aren’t we? Get the refugees to safety. Don’t try that line of thinking on Hailwic - he won’t be able to understand it at all. I’ll let him know what Ladoga will do. Make yourself comfortable. The third floor is yours, and the housekeeper will cook you whatever you want to eat. You should feast while we’re here. We can buy food in Ladoga, but we will only be able to bring what we can carry back with us. ”

The large meal and a bath sounded wonderful, but Oliver now felt a sense of foreboding about tomorrow. Malcolm wasn’t the only one who had to talk to Hailwic. 

  


>>\--->

  
  
Tommy took in the disgruntled look on Adalbert’s ruddy face. It was so familiar. He felt like he’d fallen through time, and he had to stop himself from shuffling his feet. “I’m _late_?” Tommy asked. “You’re lucky I came at all.”

“You went to Malcolm, and he told you he can’t save the city without me, so you’re here,” Adalbert said. He crossed his arms. “Any simpleton could have predicted that, and I’ve had eight days to do nothing but sit here and think of exactly what’s happening behind the castle’s walls. Has the mystery of Felicity’s paternity come out too?”

Tommy grimaced, and Adalbert nodded. “I thought it might.”

“You knew that Malcolm was Felicity’s father?”

“I wasn’t there when she was born, but I knew Donna and who she was with when Felicity was born. I also know Malcolm. Please tell me that he doesn’t have Felicity at least.”

“She’s been settled in Oliver’s house,” Tommy said.

“Good,” Adalbert said. “How did he manage that?”

Tommy gave him a long stare. “Oliver claimed her in front of the Angel Council and everyone else.”

Adalbert raised his eyebrows. “Claimed her. That’s a bold move. I told him to do whatever it took to keep her from Malcolm, but claiming seems a little excessive. Of course, he does appreciate her, and I suppose Malcolm threatened.”

Tommy swallowed the bitter feelings that rose in his throat. “Malcolm tried to announce _our_ engagement during the Council meeting.”

“He must be desperate,” Adalbert said. “How is Felicity?”

“Worried to death about you and confused about all of the important things you never told her -  like the fact that you and Malcolm saved Zvyozda with magic the last time the castle was attacked.”

“You told her I was a _magician_?” Adalbert asked.

“It might have come up,” Tommy said, “when I was putting my life at risk telling her all about what _I_ can do.”

Tommy took the small package Felicity had given him out of his satchel. “Here,” he said tossing it on the bench beside Adalbert. “It’s food and a knife. Felicity sent some salve in case you had any injuries. I don’t know if that’ll work, but you’re definitely looking worse for wear.”

Adalbert scowled at him. He took the tin and opened it. “If Felicity made it, it’ll work. Donna had some healing skills, and she taught Felicity, but Felicity is a natural.” He dipped his finger in the salve and then put some on his shoulder, groaning as he rubbed it in.

Tommy gestured at the bag. “There’s a small book of magic too, although I’m not sure she entirely believed me when I told her what you were. She wanted to come with me to give this to you herself, but Oliver refused.”

“I should think so,” Adalbert said. “This is no place for anyone who wants to continue living.” He raised a finger and pointed it at Tommy. “You tell Felicity that if she comes here for any reason - _any_ reason - I’ll stab myself with this knife she sent with you. It won’t be fatal, but it will cause me more pain. Tell her to light a candle to Matka and Mokosh, to pray for patience, but not to come after me.”

“She plays dirty,” Tommy said. “And she’s my sister. I’m not sure how long I can hold out against her. She isn’t exactly the meekest of girls.”

“Are you Malcolm’s son or not?” Adalbert asked.

“I’m Rebecca’s son.” Tommy smiled. “You should have seen Felicity confront the angelas of Zemlya.”

Adalbert relaxed on the bench and reached for the package. He opened it and looked inside. “She ruffled a few feathers?”

“More than a few,” Tommy said. “She told Audovera that Oliver was the only thing standing between all of us and death, and she’d do better to be grateful.”

“She said that? I suppose Audovera came right for her as soon as Oliver made his announcement. Well, good for Felicity. She has a lot of Donna in her, and Donna didn’t suffer those harpies either.” He grinned. “Tell Felicity I’m proud of her.”

“Tell her yourself,” Tommy said. He crossed the room and squatted before Adalbert. “Let’s get you out of here.” He put his hand over the shackle on his ankle and concentrated. “This should only take a second.” The metal didn’t give, though. He tried again, focusing just on the lock. Nothing. “There’s something wrong,” he said after several moments. “It won’t respond to my magic.”

Adalbert nodded. “It’s an iron shackle, and we’re situated on a ley line. The magic runs deep into the earth. It’s going to take a lot stronger magic to get it open. I’m afraid for now I’m stuck here.”

“A ley line?” Tommy asked. He went over and tugged at the other end of the chain, but held fast. “What are you talking about?” He knelt down on the dirt floor and scraped at it but it was harder than it first appeared. It was rock.

“There are paths running through the earth, conduits that allow energy to pass and connect important magical places. Have you ever been in a forest, seen a seemingly random path, and wondered why it’s there? It’s because the animals, the insects - everything - can sense the energy and what direction it’s moving in.” Adalbert pounded the floor where the chain disappeared with his heel. “This is magic used in conjunction with other magic, and it can’t be undone easily. Did you touch the tent walls when you came in?”

“What? No,” Tommy said.

“Touch them.”

Tommy stood, walked over to the wall, and went to press his hand against the canvas lightly, so it wouldn’t move too much and give away his presence. It didn’t give at his touch, though. His fingers hit stone. He stared at Adalbert.

“With the right magic and a connection to the earth in the proper place, nearly anything is possible,” Adalbert said. “Did you think that Zvyozda was carved from the mountain itself? The angels knew these secrets once too.”

Tommy pounded his fist against the wall. “How did they do this?”

“If I had that knowledge and a cask of okavita, I could have myself a nice evening,” Dally said and then bowed his head.  “I’m sorry, Tommy. You’ve done well. What I said before - I knew you’d come not just because Malcolm’s hands are tied, but because you want to save your home too. I’m just worried. This is stronger magic than I have known.”

“What are we going to do?” Tommy asked. “We can’t just wait for the Skalvians to destroy the castle.”

“I don’t think they _want_ to destroy it,” Dally said. “They’ve been here here already for eight days and haven’t made one move to attack it. Their leader? He’s younger than the man who used to be in charge. I’ve been thinking about why they’re attacking now. What’s changed? Why did they come so early in the year? They usually take their tribute in goods and staples we won’t have until harvest.”

“So why are they here now?”

“I think - and this is only a guess based on what I’ve seen of this new leader - I think this Skalvian has something to prove. He wants to expand their territory and give them Zvyozda as the crown jewel of his offering. They want us to think they’ll kill at any moment. That’s why they’ve terrorized the city with the beheadings. Instead, they’ll wait for us to starve rather than confront them, and then the city and the territory surrounding it are theirs to take.”

“You could be wrong,” Tommy said.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m wrong. The steps we take to defeat them are the same. We have to find out the source of their power and the magic that will reverse or overcome it. This is where Felicity will be able to help you. Go back to Zvyozda, and ask her to take you to the library. The passage you will need to find is in the far east corridor of the underground tunnels. Down the hall from the books in foreign tongues are several hidden doors. The second one is the one you will need, and it will open for Felicity’s blood.”

Tommy recoiled. “You used Felicity’s blood?”

Adalbert rolled his eyes. “Everyone assumes that for blood magic, you need buckets of it. You hardly ever do. Some spells, if they’re not difficult, only require a drop. It doesn’t even have to be fresh sometimes. I used one of her bandages when she cut her hand slicing vegetables.”

“You told me you don’t do magic,” Tommy said. “You always insisted on that. Magic is beneath you or who knows what your reasoning was.”

“I don’t _like_ to do magic,” Adalbert said. “But in this situation, I needed to remove some books from the collection for the protection of the people of Zvyozda. This was the only way I could keep them secure.

“The hidden room has the books on greater magic. There are a number of them. Tell Felicity to look for the ones written in the runish of the Norse peoples. Do not waste time on the Latin books. The Romans didn’t rely on advanced magic because their fighting forces were so well trained, and they could skirmish and fight outdoors much of the year. The Norse peoples have a much harsher climate, so they’d had to create other ways to survive.”

“And the other hidden rooms?”

“Don’t worry about the other hidden rooms,” Adalbert said. “No one’s ever getting in those. Just get Felicity to the one I described. Come back when you have something of use.”

Tommy stared at Adalbert, annoyed. He’d risked his life to find him. The old man should have some gratitude. Maybe now was the time to point out that he was not longer Adalbert’s student…

“You should leave now,” Adalbert said. “They check on me fairly regularly. Make me a hidey hole where I can put these things.”

Tommy glared at him. “Make your own hidey hole. Obviously you can.”

“Not as fast as you can,” Adalbert said. “You can conjure one instantly. It would take me half a day, even if I had the spell in front of me.”  

“I didn’t have to come,” Tommy said.

“You did,” Adalbert said. “And not just for the city. I know Felicity. I raised her.” He looked at Tommy for a long time and then sighed. “Thank you. It’s dangerous, and you were good to come. Now,” he said, “that hiding place?”

 

  
>>\--->

 

  
Oliver landed on stone tower of his family’s Lake Ladoga house carefully. These open-arched structures were designed to grant angels simple access to whatever building they were attached to, but the masonry here obviously needed work. The paint on the wooden door was so faded it was hard to tell what color it had been. He opened that door to enter the stairway below, and began to descend.

The rooms for the family’s use were on the third floor, and he peeked inside his parents’ bedroom. A wash of orange sunlight was shining through the western window and illuminating the enameled tiling on the opposite wall. His mother had insisted on glass panes for her bedroom and paid for them with her dowry money. The large mahogany bed had a garnet cloisonné inlay on its headboard and had been imported from Byzantium. Oliver remembered not being able to touch much of anything in this room, but it was beautiful. There was no denying that. Even under dust and covers, it was lovely.

It had the feel of his mother to it, and that made him smile. It was elegant and vibrant, richly appointed. Moira had liked Ladoga far more than his father had. As a Celestian angel, she’d had a social cachet the angels here had appreciated. They’d asked her opinion on social matters and deferred to her judgments. Moira had viewed them as provincial, of course, but she’d enjoyed their compliments and attention anyway. She’d thought the angels in Zvyozda were too political.

Oliver wondered what Moira would think about Felicity. The woman he had claimed certainly wasn’t aristocratic. She didn’t understand the angel social graces, how to dress, or the intricacies of angel etiquette, but she had backbone. Moira’s own inner strength had helped her survive what happened in Zvyozda and afterward. She respected backbone. Oliver thought his mother might like Felicity under the right circumstances.

He walked over to the window, turned the latch, and pushed it out. It opened with some resistance. Out on the water below, angel children were boating, using their wings as sails. A breeze came up and with it a memory.  He, Tommy, and Sara had used to play in those same depths.

He and Tommy would fly up, tuck their wings firmly against their bodies, and drop like an arrow into the lake. Sometimes Oliver would gather up Sara, ascend hundreds of feet in the air, then drop her. She would scream all the way down, but Tommy would snatch her out of the air before she could hit the water. Sara’s mother had hated this game and would yell at them from the house, but Sara had laughed and laughed and begged to be dropped again. At the end of this game, they’d all splash into the lake together and sputter their way to the surface.

Oliver stared into the red sunset. He wanted that again: those lazy summer days and laughter with friends he trusted wholly. He had a hard time imagining Felicity here, though. She didn’t care for angels, and she wasn’t impressed with expensive things. The lake was an attraction, but could she even swim?

Behind him, someone’s footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Oliver turned to see their elderly retainer, Stanibor, as he peered through the doorway. He was carrying a heavy stick in his hand.

“Angel Oliver?” Stanibor asked in surprise, lowering the stick. He looked much the same as he had when Oliver was a child - ancient. Too old to be caring for this house. Unfortunately, Oliver had something he needed Stanibor to do for him.

Oliver smiled. “Yes, it’s me, Stanibor,” he said. “I’ve come back to Ladoga for a short visit, and there’s something I need you to do.” 

  


>>\--->  
  


Tommy exited through the part of Adalbert’s room that faced the center of the camp. He needed to do one more thing before he left. Back in the courtyard, he scanned the area. The boy who had been galloping earlier sat in the sunny area holding his arm and crying. No one around him was looking at him. Tommy carefully made his way through the yard until he was standing over the boy. He knelt down, placed a hand on the boy’s good shoulder, and whispered in his ear, “Don’t scream.”

The boy jump and jostled his arm. From here Tommy could see it was bent at a strange angle and badly bruised. The guard dog nearby caught the boy’s movement and tilted his head.

“Don’t say anything, just nod or shake your head. I’ll help you, but I need to know if you have any family here.”

The boy stiffened and slowly shook his head. The dog stepped forward.

“No one’s looking after you?” Tommy asked.

The boy shook his head again, and the dog began to trot forward. The Skalvian looked up. The boy sucked in his breath and began to whimper.

“Take a breath,” Tommy said. “The dog, at least, can feel your fear, and he’ll know something’s wrong. Breathe in slowly. I won’t let either of them hurt you, but this will go better if you stand up and slowly walk over to that corner in the shadow there. Can you do that?”

A tear dropped from the boy’s eye and ran down his cheek, but he gave a tiny nod and then struggled to his feet. He began to walk in the direction Tommy had indicated. The dog walked up to him, and the boy tried to ignore him. The dog sniffed him but kept moving towards Tommy. He began to growl. Tommy had a second to spring into the air before the dog lunged forward to where he’d been and began barking. The Skalvian guard noticed the commotion.

By now the boy was running and had reached the shadowed part of the yard. Fortunately, all eyes in the courtyard were now on the dog, so Tommy flew over and grabbed the boy and flung them both into the air. He clamped a hand over the boy’s mouth, stifling the scream he’d about to let out, and he felt how wet the boy’s face was now.

“Got you,” Tommy said. “Now we get out of here!” He flew as fast as he could for Zvyozda with the sobbing boy in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A verst is an old Russian unit of measurement. It's slightly less than a kilometer. There are roughly 2 versts in a mile.


	12. Hard Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver makes arrangements for the refugees in Ladoga, and Felicity and Tommy dig further into old history and family secrets.

Light from his mother’s glass woke Oliver early, and he rummaged through the cedarwood box at the end of the bed to find some of his father’s clothes. Stanibor - or perhaps his mother’s servants - had folded each item in a tight roll to prevent creasing and overexposure to Ladoga’s moist air. His father’s long brocade jacket was a little tight in the shoulders but by loosening the laces in the back, he was able to make it fit. Oliver thought for a moment of how tall and impressive his father had always seemed to him, capable of anything. Had he looked out at the Zvyozdan plain on that day fifteen years ago and been afraid? Had he suspected that he might be flying to his death?

Oliver did not have enough time to get his hair cut and pomaded in the Ogonian style, but Stanibor heated water for the banya at the back of the narrow, gated yard, and he had a long, refreshing soak in the tiled enclosure. He felt a little self-conscious taking this much care with his appearance, but he needed to make an impression on Hailwic. The situation with the refugees was too dire for him to leave the details either to Malcolm or to chance.

The path the Skalvians had taken into Karelia had devastated Zemlya most of all, but closer to Zvyozda people from all the clans in the vicinity had panicked and run for shelter. The clan lands radiated out like spokes of a half wheel from the castled city. From west to east they were: Voda with its long White Sea shore, then Ogon with its miles of rivers and trade roads, forested Veter, and finally Zemlya fenced in the north by the Sambian Mountains and stretching far south into the black-earth steppe lands. Oliver hoped that the Skalvians had taken the most direct route and spared Zemlya’s richest croplands. They’d burned their way through northern Zemlya, Veter and even some of Ogon nearest the castle.

Hundreds of years ago Randulf had created the clans as a way to ensure the payment of the Skalvian tribute, but he hadn’t spun them from thin air. Before the angels had come and claimed Karelia for their empire, tribes had existed and had lived roughly in the areas the clans now occupied. None of these clans had appreciated being moved and reassigned to new lands, but it certainly had made things more manageable from an administrative standpoint. It also worked to create ties between the castle Randulf was building and the serfs who served it. The angels liked to take credit for all of Karelia’s successes, but the reality was that Randulf had been a pragmatist, and an adept one.

He hoped Hailwic was a pragmatist too. Karelia needed him to be now.

He found Hailwic alone on Ladoga’s Great Hall on the terrace that overlooked the city. He waved and alighted onto the flagstones.  “I wondered if I might have a word with you,” Oliver said, “about Zvyozda.”

Hailwic leaned his weight on his back leg. His gray wings brushed the edge of the stone wall. “The news we’ve heard has not been good.”

Oliver nodded. “The situation is dire. We are surrounded, the castle is full of refugees from Zemlya and Veter, and these Skalvians seem impossible to kill.”

“Impossible?” Hailwic’s eyebrows came down. “Surely they’re just men.”

“No,” Oliver said. “They look like men - enormous men, with white hair and pale skin - but arrows bounce right off their skin. I’ve seen it. They’ve killed hundreds, perhaps even thousands of men. They behead them.”

Hailwic winced but looked wary. “And you want me to…”

“Ladoga is the safest place we can send the refugees that has the resources to keep them.”

“But they’re not from Ogon,” Hailwic said, “and Ladoga is only one city. Surely, it would be better to spread them out so that the burden doesn’t all fall on us. And won’t this attract the Skalvians’ attention to us? The town may be fortified, but the entire lake is not, and most of the angels’ houses are around the lake.”

Oliver crossed over to the wall and leaned against it. “It could,” he said slowly, “but Ladoga is still far outside of the circle we’ve seen the Skalvians’ movements. More importantly, if we cannot keep Zvyozda from falling, what do you think will happen to the rest of Karelia? The Skalvians will burn their way through Veter and be here in months. Is that what you want for Ogon?”

“No,” Hailwic said, letting out his breath. “No, of course not. But I don’t know how I’ll justify it to the council here. They are already upset. Malcolm funnels all of our tax revenues to Zvyozda, and the silver merchants are nearly ready to go to war over it as half of the monies come from them.”

Hailwic stroked his short, gray beard in that way men did before denying a request, so Oliver pressed on. “I wouldn’t expect you to pay for it. I brought gold with me so that you will be able to purchase whatever is necessary, but I need a capable angel in charge.” He pulled out a heavy purse and placed it on the wall beside Hailwic.

Hailwic looked at the purse and straightened. “Does Malcolm know that you are doing this?”

Oliver shrugged. “Malcolm is less concerned about the fate of Zemlya’s people than I am,” he said, “but we both know that you have the responsibility for Ladoga, and it’s no small task.”

“I’m surprised he’s noticed,” Hailwic said, but he leaned closer to Oliver. “What did you have in mind?”  

Oliver caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, and saw Malcolm entering the terrace from underneath the castle’s archway. He looked angry, and Oliver took a breath. “Malcolm,” he said.

Malcolm looked from the purse now in Hailwic’s hand to Oliver. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m explaining to Hailwic here that I would be happy to pay for him to shelter and feed the refugees we will be sending - as long as he’s willing to welcome them here.”

Malcolm stared at Oliver for a moment, the muscle in his jaw popping. Then he turned to Hailwic. “I’m going to need thirty of your angels to fly back and forth to pick up people every day. I’ll also need you to find places for them here. It doesn’t have to be the city. The surrounding countryside will be fine. Build an encampment for them if you can’t locate enough homes.”

“Thirty angels every day?” Hailwic asked.

Malcolm looked impatient. “Yes, thirty, and maybe even more. Ogon hasn’t required much of Ladoga’s angels in the past year.”

Before Hailwic could object, Oliver said, “What would you say, Malcolm, to hosting a four-clan meeting here in Ogon? I know it’s a great deal to ask of you in addition to this help, but Voda and Veter are unaware of the danger they are in.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes and licked his lips. “You mean like a...gathering?”

Hailwic stared at him. “We haven’t had a gathering in half a century at least.”

“I had the idea when we flew over Mount Sleza,” Oliver said, “where the gods were said to battle.”  

Malcolm’s mouth twisted up. “And where Veles’ entrance to the underworld lies. Yes, we know the tale.”

“Well, the great harvest or Radegast’s Day - however you like to look at it - will be here in a few weeks. It might help us to gather leadership from all of the clans to determine what is to be done. They would listen to you because you’ve been the leader of Ogon so long and will have seen what’s happening all over Karelia.”

Malcolm looked thoughtful, but Hailwic seemed confused, so Oliver clarified. “We’re traveling to Voda and Veter after this to tell them what’s happened and ask for their aid.”

“You’ve been clan leader of Zemlya for how long, Oliver?” Hailwic asked.

“Only a few weeks. I’ve had an interesting beginning,” Oliver smiled. “My mother took us away from Zvyozda after the Skalvians attacked last time, and I only recently returned. I don’t know if you remember my family.”

“I do,” Hailwic said. “Your father was killed?”

“Yes.”

Malcolm clapped his hands. “It’s a good idea. But we’d need to set up another encampment in order to house all of the other leaders. I will be glad to have them here in Ogon. We must stop in Vratislaviya, and I will let Fredegar know.”

From Hailwic’s expression, Oliver could tell this would not be a pleasant surprise for Fredegar.

“Enough talk of problems,” Malcolm said, with a satisfied look. “All is not hopeless, and Oliver here is a new bridegroom.”

“You are?” Hailwic asked, obviously surprised.

Oliver wasn’t sure what Malcolm was trying to do, but he went along with it. An image of Felicity throwing a slipper at him came to him, and he smiled. “Yes. An Ogon girl, actually. Felicity is her name.”

“Donna’s daughter,” Malcolm said, giving Hailwic a direct look.

“Donna’s…” Hailwic raised his eyebrows and his glance bounced between the two men, “but then-- Does that mean...”

“Unfortunately, Oliver hasn’t had a chance to celebrate this new phase of his life because of the siege,” Malcolm said. “We need to make sure he gets enough rest and nourishment while we are here in Ladoga. I would invite you to my house tonight, Hailwic. Please bring your wife.” He clapped him on the back.

Hailwic picked up the purse of coins once again and smiled uncertainly. “I will, my angel. She will be happy for the invitation.”

“Of course she will,” Malcolm said. “Now Oliver, let’s see about gathering more provisions, and I need to talk with you about Fredegar.” He put his arm around his back and led them away from the still stunned Hailwic.  
  
  


>>\--->

  


Felicity had expected that, with Oliver gone, her life would be calmer and more in hand, but the morning of the third day without him dawned and she was still as busy as ever. Only now, she was worried about _three_ men: her father, her husband, and now her brother. She traced her finger over the same line of runes in the large Skalvian history she’d been trying to read for the past half hour. They looked like bird tracks on a sandy riverbank, but there was a formality to the phrasing here that would indicate importance. She closed the book, too distracted to decipher it. Had Tommy found Adalbert yet?

He had left after breakfast. She’d been impatient for him to be gone, but as the hours passed and he did not return, she began to wonder if she’d pushed him into a situation that _was_ too much for him to manage. Perhaps Oliver had been right, and it was too dangerous. What if the Skalvians caught him? What if he couldn’t carry Adalbert _and_ fly? If Tommy bungled this, Oliver wasn’t even here to help.

Felicity went to the window and stared hard at the encampment. From this distance she couldn’t see very much, but everything seemed quiet and unchanged. A cadaverous looking guard stood in front of the main entrance to the camp. He was digging his sword into the earth, making ridges in the dirt that looked like the hen scratch she’d been studying.

The door to the bedchamber opened and Mila peered in. “Angela, there is a woman who has come to the house looking for a healer. She says she knows you.” Mila’s voice raised. “She demanded to see you.”

Felicity turned towards her and frowned. “She’s from Zemlya?”

Mila shook her head. “No, Ogon. She says it’s urgent.”

“What does she look like?”

“Tall, unhappy,” Mila said. “Rich.”

The woman turned out to be Joveta, an old schoolmate whom Felicity hadn’t seen in ages. She’d married a much older man from Veter. Her father had arranged the match because their families’ lands bordered. Joveta’s husband had woodlands aplenty in Veter, and her father owned mines in central Ogon. Both could avoid the trade hassles that the clans imposed on important materials and goods now because of the family connection.

Joveta was not Felicity’s favorite person, although she had known her a long time. Joveta’s father owned a house on Cloud Hill, only a few down from the one with the yellow door, but he had not approved of Felicity’s mother, and so neither had Joveta. The two girls had shared the tutor Malcolm had hired and had learned dancing, singing, and embroidery together, all of which Joveta had performed better than Felicity.

She stood in the sitting room now with a disreputable looking angel, holding a crying toddler on her hip. Her silk dress was heavily embroidered, but flecked with spit up, and her close cropped hair was mussed.

“Felicity,” Joveta said when she entered the room, “you must help! Dodo is sick, and I can’t find anyone who will help him. Sobena won’t even touch him. She says he has the refugees’ disease. But I remembered your mother used to heal.” She shoved the baby at Felicity.

Dodo. Felicity blinked at the ridiculous angel name. Joveta’s grandmother had been an angel and her mother a social climber. It wasn’t this child’s fault, however. She leaned over to take a look at him. The boy was thin and wan, and his face was red and tear stained. “Refugees’ disease?” she asked.

Mila coughed behind her. “If I may, angela,” she said, “I think she means camp fever. The disease people get when they’re crowded together and unwashed.”

Felicity nodded. “I’ve never seen it myself. What are the signs?”

Mila stepped forward and gestured at the baby’s smock. “A rose colored rash on the chest, a high fever, chills. There are more - headache, confusion, muscle pain - but it’s hard to tell with babies because they can’t tell you how they feel.” She tilted her head at Dodo and gave him a sympathetic look. “Can you? Has he been coughing?” she asked Joveta.

“Coughing? No, but he does have a fever. He hasn’t slept well for days.” Joveta tried to nestle him back into her body, but Dodo arched against her and screamed.

“No rash, though?” Felicity asked. She touched the baby’s arm. “Shhh, Dodo. We’re not going to hurt you.” The boy stared up at her with round brown eyes. His cries faded, but drool rolled down his chin and dripped onto an already yellow patch of his linen smock. Felicity lifted up the smock to look at his tummy. The skin there was white and smooth. “No rash.” She kissed his forehead. “He may have a low fever. Here, give him to me.” She held out her arms.

Joveta handed her the baby with a rush of relief. “You don’t think it’s the refugees’ disease? We’ve been hearing rumors that people are sick in Veter for days.”

“Days?” Felicity asked. “Hugo said he’d cleaned up his quarter at the angels’ meeting. He hasn’t?” She took the baby to the table, set him on it, and tickled him under the chin to try to get a smile out of him.

“They’ve been doing something in the square,” Joveta said. “I don’t know what. There are fewer refugees on the streets now.”

Dodo began to fuss again. “Shhhh,” Felicity said, “Let’s take a look at your mouth. Mila, do we have any honey?”

“I’ll get some, angela,” Mila said and left the room. Joveta’s angel companion sat down on a stool in the corner of the room. His eyes were sunken, his skin was sallow, and his hair was greasy.

“I’m sorry,” Felicity said, “this is...”

Joveta frowned. “What? Oh, that’s Faro, my angel cousin,” she said, using the term rich clansmen had for angels they hired to fly them around. No doubt Faro had been up all last night despite the blockade. Expensive pastimes were what compelled angels like him into service. Felicity hoped he was sober enough to fly.

Mila hustled back into the room with a small pot of honey, and Felicity took it from her and put her index finger inside. She held up a glob before Dodo’s face. “Open your mouth, bug,” she said. “You like honey, don’t you?”

Dodo opened his mouth, and Felicity spread the sweetness on his gums, feeling carefully top and bottom. The baby whimpered. Yes, there was the problem. “He has three teeth coming in in the back here,” she said. “All at once, but nothing on the other side. Those can really hurt.” Dodo sucked and gnawed on her finger.

“It’s just...teething?” Joveta asked. “He hasn’t slept well for days. He’s losing weight.”

“Well, it’s an open wound,” Felicity said. “It hurts. If you rinse his mouth with salt water and give him - do you have an amber necklace?”

Joveta nodded. “Of course.”

“Let him chew on that. Make sure it’s well strung and tight, so he can’t gnaw them off and choke. He may be hungry too because of the food rationing.”

“We haven’t been rationed on Cloud Hill,” Joveta said, and Felicity felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily.

“You haven’t?” she said. “That was another measure mentioned at the angels’ meeting. Veter will run out of food if you don’t begin to ration what you have.”

“The humans will,” Faro said from the corner.

“All of us will,” Felicity said. “My husband has said.”

“Your husband,” Faro said.

“The Angel Oliver,” Mila said, pride in her voice. “Clan leader of Zemlya.”

“Yes,” Faro said, “He’s been in Zvyozda now a few weeks, is that right?”

“Long enough to know things aren’t right,” Mila said. Joveta shot her a haughty look, so Felicity picked up the baby and gave him back to her. “I can’t see that there are any signs of camp fever, but if he does spike a fever or come down with a rash, bring him back to me.”

Joveta looked relieved. “If he’s too sick to fly, I’ll send my cousin for you.” She gave Faro a hard look.

“The clan leader’s wife has her own angels to escort her,” Mila said, and Faro rolled his eyes, but Tommy chose that moment to enter the room, so Felicity was spared a reply.

“There you are,” Tommy said. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

  


>>\--->

  


At Tommy’s urgent request and as surreptitiously as possible, Felicity led him to the hidden back entrance of the library in Ogon, unlocked it, and dragged him into the darkness. She pulled a torch from the bucket of sand there and lit it, closing the door and locking it behind them. “Watch the floor here. It’s rough in spots,” she said. “And the ceiling is low.”

“I remember,” Tommy said.

“You’ve been in the library?” Felicity asked.

“When Adalbert was teaching me, yes,” Tommy said. “Malcolm insisted on absolute secrecy.”

This reminded Felicity that her brother and her father - and her other father - had a shared, complicated history she had neither known nor been a part of. That annoyed her so she trudged on silently. Tommy’s wings scraped against the walls as he tried to maneuver in the narrow space. “Tell me about Dally,” she said. She’d waited patiently long enough.

“I told you, he’s fine,” Tommy said. “He’s a little worse for wear, but he’s as crusty as ever. The first thing he said to me was, ‘You’re late.’”

Felicity smiled to herself. That sounded like Dally. Perhaps he really was alright. “He told you to come _here_?”

“‘The far east corridor,’ he said, ‘past the books with the foreign tongues.’ There are apparently hidden rooms?”

“I only know of two,” Felicity said. “He dug them out himself to ensure total secrecy. I’m not surprised there are more.”

“Because he’s a suspicious old codger?”

“Because he distrusts your father and all of the angels. With good reason,” Felicity said. “Here’s the turn. Watch your step.”

They eased their way down the staircase that was carved into the rock, and Felicity saw the familiar bookshelves ahead. “It’s this way.” They went past Dally’s hidden room and then the room of foreign tongues. It felt like she’d been here with Oliver a lifetime ago, but it had only been a week. How could that be? She slowed down and gestured with the torch to the long corridor in front of her. “Do whatever it is you do,” she said.

“Whatever it is I do?” She could hear the smile in Tommy’s voice and it made her stiffen.

“Feel about with your mind, I don’t know,” she said.

“‘Feel about with my mind,’” Tommy said. Then he went quiet, and she knew he was concentrating. After a minute he said, “Yes, there are two rooms here. This is the one Dally said we should find. It’s over here.” He grabbed her hand, led her further down the passage, and pushed it against the wall. This section of the wall looked unremarkable and smooth, but her hand disappeared and she felt a shallow crevice.

“There’s a spell at work here,” she said. “How is that possible?”

“Adalbert must have cast it,” Tommy said.

“Dally doesn’t do magic,” she said.

“He does when it suits his purposes,” Tommy said. “For example, here. It should open at your touch” He pressed her hand flat, and a door appeared and creaked open. Felicity held the torch in front of her and peered inside. It was another small space, but larger than the room she’d shown Oliver with bookcases against three walls. She stepped in and looked for the torch holder, finding it by the door. She inserted the torch, and light reflected off of a shined surface behind it, brightening most of the room.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“These are the magic books, the grimoires and other texts… specifically, the ones Adalbert didn’t want Malcolm or the other angels to see,” Tommy said.

“He told you that?”

“Why else would he have hidden them? I know the librarian is the only one with the secrets of the library, but anyone with access who could read would eventually figure out the system, unless it’s completely incomprehensible,” Tommy said.

“It’s not,” Felicity said. “It might take awhile to figure out, though. It’s largely sorted by subject, but there are some tricks. Why does it open at _my_ touch, though?”

“Because, Felicity, you are the one person in this castle that Adalbert trusts.”

There was so much buried in that statement that she would have to wait until later to excavate it all. “I’ve never even seen this door. How did he cast the spell?”

“He said he used your blood - from when you got a cut. So you know the ins and the outs of the library, then?” Tommy said. “I wondered if you might.”

“Of course,” Felicity said. “I’ve known since I was little. Dally had another apprentice, but the angels took him, and after that he trained me in secret. He also trained Anton, but not everything.” She smiled. “Not half of it. What are we looking for?”

“He said to look for the books written in Runish. Is that even a language?”

“It’s an alphabet - another system of letters,” Felicity said. “Learning another alphabet isn’t too difficult. Learning an entire vocabulary is the challenge.”

“Oliver said you knew five,” Tommy said. He sounded impressed, and she felt a little vindicated.

“Oliver said that? One of them is Slavonic, of course,” she said. “Then there’s Latin, Frankish, Old Norse in runes, as well as some Skalvian. Dally knows several more, but that covers much of what’s found in our library.”

“He said not to bother with the Latin books.”

“Why not?”

“Because apparently the Romans are the authority on warfare, not magic. He said the Norsemen live in such a harsh environment, they need to modify it with magic.”

“They fight like lightning, too - on land and from the sea. Some of the Frankish histories talk about how they appear as if rising from the fog, wreaking immediate destruction. So it would make sense that they are using magic to destroy their enemies. I can’t believe Dally did all of this. Gathered all of these books and hid them. Do you think he knows all of this magic? That he knows how to _use_ it?”

Tommy face became serious. “I think it’s very possible that your father is much more powerful than we’ve ever imagined.”

How could that be? When she thought of Dally, she saw him in his soft chair frowning over a book and rubbing the bald spot on his head. This was a man whose greatest joy was fishing. It was too much to take in. “What kind of spell are we looking for?”

Tommy rubbed his hand across his forehead. “I know you’re not going to believe me,” he said.

“Try me. We’re here in this room that I never knew existed,” she said.

“The Skalvian encampment,” Tommy said, “it looks like tents. You can see the canvas blowing in the wind as it gusts across the Westphalian Plain. But they’re not tents.”

“What are they?”

“They’re walls. They’re like stone. Adalbert said that the castle and the plain are on a ley line. You know what that is?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “So they’re using the magic that’s conducted through the ley line, tapping into it to strengthen their spells. And they’ve built their own fortress. Do they have Dally in a dungeon or something? Why can’t you get him out?”

“They have a chain around one of his ankles. It won’t open. It’s made of iron. I suppose that’s important?”

“Well, in theory, iron acts as a channel for magic. That’s what I’ve read. It’s in our blood too. If iron were somehow to be connected to the iron, it might create an essentially unbreakable shackle. Except that…”

“Except what?”

“Well, nothing is truly unbreakable, right? Whatever is created can be destroyed. You simply must determine how it was created. That’s what we’re looking for?”

“That’s what we’re looking for,” Tommy said.

“Can you read at all?” she asked.

“Yes, I can read Slavonic, and some Latin,” Tommy said. “Your father taught me. Malcolm insisted.”

“Well, you can help, then. Iron is _ferrum_ or _ferreus_ as a descriptor. It will vary, of course, by case and declension. Look for the _ferr_ \- root.” She ran her finger along the spines on the shelf nearest to her. “Here, this one looks like a good enough place to start. It’s nice and thick.” She opened it up and saw the illustration of a dragon flying over tall flames. “These old manuscripts are always so dramatic. I don’t know why the scribes were obsessed with demons and dragons. Who wants to summon a demon?”

“Adalbert said he put the books of dark magic somewhere else, and the location would die with him,” Tommy said.

Felicity nodded. “Using earth magic to transform or strengthen other objects isn’t dark magic,” she said. “We simply need to find a way to break the connection, and then you should be able to open his shackle, right?”

“I’ve never run into a lock I couldn’t open before this,” Tommy said. “It was a shock, honestly. Sometimes I open locks just to pass the time.”

The two of them settled down in the dust of the floor and began to read. Felicity looked through the shelves for anything in Runish that looked ancient or was otherwise distinctive. Transforming structures via ley lines seemed complicated. She found a book that looked promising and opened it, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate.

“Has Oliver always been so stubborn?” She asked Tommy.

“I’m not sure it’s ‘stubborn’ to want to keep your wife away from known murderers,” Tommy said, looking up from his text.

“We’re not married!” Felicity said. “I never made any vows to him. The claiming wasn’t real, in any case. He did it only to stop Malcolm.”

“Yes, but _now you’re his wife_. Do you think after this is over, he’ll set you aside and you’ll be able to go on as before?”

Felicity stared at him.

“You do? You do! Felicity, he’s a _clan head_. Who is going to want to challenge him to marry you?”  
  
“Challenge him? No one will have to challenge him. We’ll explain--”

“You’ll explain what?” Tommy asked. “That it was all a deception, his claiming you and putting you at the head of angel society? That he didn’t mean any of it? That you don’t want him?”

“I don’t want him!” Felicity said.

Tommy laughed. “Tell yourself what you will, but I know what I saw when I entered your room four nights ago. You were a hair’s breadth away from giving yourself to him, if you haven’t already.”

Felicity sucked in her breath. “I haven’t! I would never!”

“Never?” Tommy asked, his lips twitching. “What makes you so special? Oliver could crook his little finger, and twenty girls and a dozen angelas would trade places with you. _He’s a clan head_. Do you understand what he’s done for you? What he’s trying to do for all of us? ‘Never!’”

“Do not laugh at me!” Felicity clenched the book in her hands.

“Then say something that’s not ridiculous,” Tommy said. He looked at her and his face softened. “I understand that you didn’t ask for this. You feel like you have little control over--”

“I feel like I have _no_ control!” Felicity said. “Dally and Oliver decided everything, and now I have to work with these horrible angelas and do whatever Oliver tells me. Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” Tommy asked. “From where I stand it looks like Oliver does very little ruling over you. He gave you full access to his house, he’s assured your safekeeping to the best of his ability, and he promised to try to get Dally back for you. What else do you want from him?”

Felicity, dropped the book, stood and stepped over the books on the floor. “I want some power, some say in my own life. I want Oliver to do what I want for once!”

“Well, for the sake of all that’s right, if you want some power, do what every woman has done for all of time: make him happy,” Tommy said. “Yes, that kind of happy. Feed him a meal and seduce him. With the way he looks at you, that’s guaranteed to work.”

“Seduce him? I don’t want to seduce him! I want to get away from him. I want what I had before.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “We all want what we want, Felicity, but a sparrow in the hand--”

“Don’t tell me about sparrows in the hand, Tommy. It’s easy for you to tell me not to want the cock on the roof. You’re an angel and a clan head’s son.”

“And you’re a clan head’s _wife_. I’m not going to waste time arguing about who has it worse. With the Skalvians out there, we’re all living on borrowed time. The truth is you can either be who you want or _have_ what you want. It’s often a choice, and sometimes we don’t get that. Yes, even a clan head’s son.”

“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Felicity said.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tommy leaned forward. “I didn’t hear that.”

“I said, ‘It wouldn’t work anyway,’” Felicity said. “I don’t know what you think he feels for me, but Oliver has a will of iron. He won’t budge when he’s made up his mind.”

“He will,” Tommy said. “You don’t know because you’re not a man. You can have the strongest intentions, but when a woman you’ve just loved looks up at you with big eyes… Well, I’ve made any number of promises I never intended to.”

“You said you’d do things, but did you actually?”

“You think I would skalve out on a promise?” Tommy asked. “You must not think much of me. No, I kept every one. Why do you think I had my human children living in the women’s quarters of our house? I had to go straight on with my father over that - numerous times.

“But regardless of what Oliver allows, I’m not taking you to Dally.”

Felicity threw her hands up in the air. “What are we even talking about then? And why won’t you?”

“I won’t take you because there’s nothing you can do for him that’s anything worth the risk we’d take. For once, Oliver, Dally, and I are in complete agreement. You are staying far away from the Skalvians.”

“Just...just...read the books, Tommy!” Felicity said. “You think you know so much just because you’re an angel.”

Tommy let out a laugh. “Not because I’m an angel - because I’ve been in love. I know what it feels like.”

Felicity picked up her book again. “I’m not in love,” she said, “but we’re all in trouble, so we should keep our minds on what’s important here.” She closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath, only to find Oliver there in her imagination, rolling towards her on their bed and brushing his lips over the back of her hand. His eyes burned bright blue. She shivered. What did he want from her? Just _that_ or something more? When he came back from Ladoga…

Then she put him out of her mind, opened _Earth Magic_ , and started deciphering runes. Dally wasn’t going to rescue himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have enjoyed playing around with Tommy and Felicity's relationship so much, and this chapter was so fun to write. I've written 4K on the next chapters, so it should post a lot sooner than this one did. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed it!


	13. Breaching the Unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Malcolm wade into new territory, both personally and geographically, and Felicity has a strange dream and tries to understand magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a lot going on in this chapter. It was fun for me to explore how magic works in this world and how Oliver is dealing with Malcolm as a ally. I spent a lot of time world building here as they move from Ogon to Veter. 
> 
> This chapter is for @Austencello. I've enjoyed your thoughts on music in Arrow. Thank you for following this story.
> 
> If you like this chapter, please do comment. I love hearing from my readers. Thanks!

Malcolm and Oliver flew from Ladoga down to southern Ogon and the border of Karelia to inform the angels in other holds about what was happening in Zvyozda. On their way back they crossed over the Crooked Forest again, flying higher and higher as the land below them rose, and Oliver remembered the journey he and Barry had taken. The countryside looked much the same as it had six weeks ago, but the tops of some trees were beginning to turn orange and yellow. They stopped in Vratislaviya to tell the angels there about the gathering and how they were to help Hailwic. It seemed that once Malcolm had made up his mind about hosting it he was fully committed.

Vratislaviya’s people were in high spirits for Lada and Lela’s Day, and the bad news did not dampen them. In the central square they were roasting a large boar on a spit, and older women plied both of them with honey cakes, roasted onions, and beer. Oliver shook his wings out for the children there and let them pick up any stray feathers. He felt good. He’d been hungry in Zvyozda and tired, but his strength was coming back to him with every meal.

Malcolm appeared happy as well. He was in such high spirits that he flew the pretty girl chosen to be Lada’s maidservant for the day up to the top of the highest building so she could wave and scatter sheaves of wheat on the crowd. When he set her gently back down on the ground, Malcolm kissed her soundly, and the people cheered.

It did not escape Oliver’s notice that Malcolm introduced himself first and Oliver sometimes not at all, but he was used to playing politics in extreme situations, and this was Malcolm’s territory. They flew off at noon with a generous supply of bread, cheese, and boiled eggs for the journey.

At sunset, Malcolm signaled to him to descend, and Oliver followed him down to a clearing on the Odra River. This part of Veter was densely forested, and it appeared others had used this spot for camping before. There was pit dug for a fire and a few large boulders had been placed around it.

“This seems as good a place as any,” Malcolm said. “We’ll be in Yasna Gora tomorrow.”

Oliver nodded, dropped his pack, and sat on one of the boulders. He rolled his shoulders and flapped his wings once to settle his feathers. It was still early, but the light was almost gone. Soon the ground would be covered in frost in the mornings. There were acorns on the ground by his feet.

Malcolm shook out a thin blanket. “You did well today. Most of the people in Vratislaviya didn’t want to believe Zvyozda is under siege, but they listened to you. You have a knack.” White teeth flashed and a dimple appeared in his cheek. Oliver tried not to stiffen at Malcolm’s friendliness. Instead he kicked off his shoes and dug his toes into the soft earth of the riverbank. The ground was loamy and cool.

“Where did you learn how to talk to people?” Malcolm asked.

“The Angel Corps,” Oliver said. “I was with them five years.”

“I thought that was fighting,” Malcolm said. “Guarding the borders.”

“I fought for two years, yes,” Oliver said, “but I got tired of it. The corps has groups that they send out to do clean up and maintain the border towns after attacks in places where there are no angels. I was with them for the other three years.”

Malcolm dug in his pack and brought out a loaf of rye bread. “They had you doing what?”  

“Burying bodies, rebuilding shelter. We’d search for a healer within the general area and try to get help for anyone who was injured or sick. Also, if attackers returned, we would fight them off.”

“And you enjoyed that?” Malcolm set more food on the blanket.

Oliver sat back and clasped his hands around his knees. “I did. It wasn’t dull. There was always something to do, and it allowed me to get to know people from all around the empire.”

The honest truth was that Oliver _had_ liked it. He’d gotten good at it, the split-second judgments of what needed to be done, the problem solving, and the organization. He’d appreciated the opportunity to make things better in some way.

“Why did you leave then?”

Oliver sighed. “I got tired of putting out the same fires over and over again. The empire sent us to do clean up, but just as we’d see some progress and get to know the people of a village, they’d send us somewhere else where we’d be burying men again and trying to scrounge food up for whoever was left. After awhile, it was just...exhausting.” He shrugged. “Also my mother wanted me back in Celestia.”

Malcolm smiled again. “Moira always had ways of getting what she wanted. How long were you in Celestia before you returned to Karelia?”

Oliver smiled. “Only a few months. My mother was beginning to make noises about introducing me to some young angelas, and I was thinking about my next move when I met Barry.”

“Barry, yes,” Malcolm sat on the blanket and leaned up against a boulder. “So you came to Zvyozda to avoid getting married, and now you have a bride.”

Oliver wondered why he kept bringing that up. “I came because I made a promise to my father.” In his mind he heard Robert’s words again, the ones he’d never forget.

_“When you return to Zvyozda, watch to see who benefits from all this death. Whoever that is, he is the traitor, and he has ruined us all today. Be careful. Bide your time and wait until you’re older and strong. But when that day comes, avenge me and your fellow angels.”_

“The Skalvians murdered him, and I swore that someday I would avenge him.” And punish whoever had betrayed Zvyozda to the Skalvians, he thought.

“Robert was a friend,” Malcolm said. “I knew him well. He would be proud of the angel you’ve become.” He grew thoughtful. “Do you think the empire would send in reinforcements here?”

“I’m sure the empire believes it Zvyozda’s duty to defend the borders of Karelia. There are hundreds of angels in the castle alone.”

“And if we fail?”

“They’ll send the empire’s magicians and the full angel contingent to push out the invaders and bury our bodies. But that won’t help us.” Oliver stood and retrieved his blanket from his pack. They should make a fire; it would get cool overnight, and the flames would keep away animals. “May I ask you something?” He glanced over his shoulder and saw Malcolm straighten.

“Anything,” Malcolm said, shrugging.

“You’ve mentioned my marriage to Felicity twice now. Why is that?”

Malcolm took a deep breath before speaking. “You know I have an interest in the girl.”

“Even though she’s not your daughter.”

“She’s Donna’s daughter,” Malcolm said. “I’ve known Felicity her entire life. I’d like to see her well positioned. I owe it to her mother.”

“Because she was your mistress?”

Malcolm’s eyebrows raised. “We’re being direct, are we?”

“We don’t have time for anything else.” Oliver crossed his legs. “Who knows what awaits us back in Zvyozda. Do you think Felicity has anything to fear from me?”

“On the contrary,” Malcolm said. “I think you’ve been remarkably protective of her - for someone who barely knew her a month ago.”

Oliver wasn’t interested in explaining that to Malcolm. “Adalbert asked me to watch out for her.”

“You have a real loyalty to the librarian.” Malcolm crossed his arms. “Did you know him before you left all of those years ago?”

“My father did, yes,” Oliver said. He started searching the brush about the clearing looking for sticks.

“Felicity certainly admires him,” Malcolm said with a trace of bitterness.

“He loves her, and he’s been good to her. More than most stepfathers would be.”

“I made it clear he’d have to be all those years ago,” Malcolm said, "when I transferred him into my clan. He wouldn’t have dared to do otherwise.”

Oliver picked up a piece of wood and thought of the desk in Adalbert’s office, the one sized just right for a little girl’s needs. He didn’t think Adalbert had built that desk out of fear. “You didn’t want to raise your daughter in your own house?”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “I’ve told you: Felicity is not my daughter. And it would not have been in her best interests. I had planned to arrange a good marriage for her when the time came.”

Oliver shifted his weight but did not comment.

Malcolm’s tiny smile was full of satisfaction. “Of course, in the end she didn’t need that, did she? She married you.”

 _After you tried to marry her to your son_. “You might have trained her for leadership in Ogon. She’s very smart.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Women are rarely suited to leadership. As a human, Felicity is never going to lead a battle charge or take on substantive clan responsibilities. Besides, unless she marries into my family, she has _no direct connection to me_.” He picked up a few sticks and tossed them into the fire pit.

Obviously, Malcolm wasn’t going to be budged from this stance. Oliver tried a different tack. “Karelia is too fractured right now. The clans do not communicate. The Skalvians are a terrible enemy, but Karelia was prime for incursion before - from any invader. The clans must be reunited.”

“I absolutely agree,” Malcolm said. “We were all concerned about Zemlya...before you returned, of course. And with no archangel, we are much more vulnerable.”

“Hugo is young to be leading Veter,” Oliver said. He went over to the fire pit and began to assemble the tinder in a tent formation, digging holes in the dirt of the firepit with the ends of the sticks.

“As are you,” Malcolm smiled indulgently, but then became serious. “Many of Veter’s angels died during the last Skalvian attack, including Hugo’s father and his elder brother. His father might have been archangel otherwise.”

“I’ve been gone so long, I don’t know how Zvyozda replaces an archangel.” This was not entirely true, but things may have changed since he’d left.

“Usually, it’s more clear,” Malcolm said. “The Angel Council -- and the Archangel himself -- groom younger leaders for the position. Waldhar didn’t, though, and the council didn’t try to force his hand in choosing a successor.”

“The council chooses?” Oliver found the flint and steel in his pocket. There was plenty of dried grass in the clearing, and he pulled some out and began forming a small nest with it.

“The Angel Council elects the archangel, but it’s usually very predictable who will ascend to the position,” Malcolm said carefully. “Maximilian would probably be their choice, since he’s the eldest and from the warrior clan, but he’s getting old. I don’t think he wants it. The only reason they haven’t yet is because Waldhar hasn’t been buried. It’s only been a week since we learned what happened to him, and they’ve been in shock. We’ll have force the issue when we return. Karelia can’t continue any longer without an archangel.”

It had been longer than a week, Oliver thought. He wondered if the other angels were dragging their feet rather than see Malcolm ascend to the position. “Do you think they’ll ask Hugo?”

Malcolm laughed. “Hugo? No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” _Besides the fact that he’s an idiot and up to the tips of his wings in something,_ Oliver thought. _Does Malcolm know that?_

“Well, he’s clearly not competent,” Malcolm said. “You’ve seen the state of Veter Quarter.”

“Yes.” Oliver added larger sticks to the pit, propping them up against each other.

“And no one will back him. He might think I will, but I won’t. I’m not giving Zvyozda over to either the Skalvians or the people.” Malcolm crouched beside him, looking curiously as Oliver began to scrape his steel against the flint.

“The people?”

“Hugo spends his summers in Ladoga, and the rest of the year in Zvyozda. He’s all but abdicated leadership in the clan lands to the priests. Or they took it from him, however you want to look at it. Outside of the castle he has no real power.”

Oliver nodded. “So you’ll be the next archangel.”

“It’s very likely,” Malcolm said. “Unless I get killed in this melee. Or you want it.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Me? I have no interest in being archangel,” Oliver said. He dragged the steel over the rough edge of the flint until sparks flew down into the little grass nest he’d made. It caught fire.

“You don’t?” Malcolm’s voice rose ever so slightly.

“No, I didn’t come back to lead Karelia, only to help fight the Skalvians,” Oliver said. Juggling the burning nest in his hands, he pushed it the wooden tent and blew on the flame gently. “I’ve only gotten this involved because things were are so dire. I haven’t thought beyond what I’ll do after, besides shoring up Zemlya and helping the refugees to return home.” He glanced back at Malcolm.

Malcolm gave him a searching look, and Oliver held his eyes. Whatever Malcolm’s game was, that was the truth: he didn’t want to be archangel. He absolutely did not.

After a long minute, Malcolm nodded. “You’ve been very clear, and I appreciate it. Now we’d better get some sleep. We still have plenty of distance to fly to get to Yasna Gora, so we’ll leave at first light.”

Oliver looked down at his fire now burning enthusiastically through the tinder and brush. He added some larger branches to the conflagration. It was early, but he was tired, and he knew a dismissal when he heard one. “First light,” he said.

 

>>\--->

 

Light was everywhere. Felicity was surrounded by it. It was brighter than any light she’d ever known except when staring directly at the sun. She turned her head away; it was too much all at once, that light: searing, intense. Even with her head turned, she could not escape. She felt exposed.  Why was it so light?

She blinked her eyes and opened them all the way and saw that she was surrounded by...feathers. Delicate fingers of down pressed and undulated against her cheek and neck, and a firmer pressure signaled to her that her back and legs were also covered. Oliver. These were Oliver’s bright wings, and they were stretched over her, shielding her from everything but the air between them.

She realized that the mass in front of her was not a pillow or a piece of the headboard. It was the firm, knotted muscle of his shoulder stretched out above her head. He was lying on his stomach with his wings outstretched, covering her and most of the surface. She couldn’t see his face because the wing hid it, but she could see the expanse of seared puckering that marred his smooth golden skin, scarred gullies of flesh that all together formed a dragon’s teeth and tongue.

Teeth and tongue. Felicity blinked and lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. Kalina said that angels were different than humans, warmer and saltier. If you kissed an angel, she said, you needed an entire pitcher of water afterwards. You would die of thirst otherwise. You might die of thirst anyway, but you’d never regret it.

She couldn’t deny that Oliver was warm. Under the tent of his wing, she was warm too, and getting warmer. Her body had been tucked into his side while she slept, and though she’d pulled away when she’d woken, she was still within inches of the junction of his arm and chest. He smelled like sweat and earth and something else. Smoke. She took a deep breath. Her tongue pushed its way from her mouth, and she wriggled her hips deeper into the mattress.

One taste. Just to see. Did angels taste like _smoke_?

She stopped herself. What would he say if he woke up and found her licking him? Matka help her, what was she thinking? She tried to sit up, but his wings held her in place firmly. She rolled away from him and pushed at the layered tension of his feathered armor. It was getting terribly warm underneath it. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, and the lengths of her arms prickled and burned.

“Let me go!” she said. Her fingers slipped on the long ribboned surface of the end feathers, but she pushed harder, and then the wing lifted and retracted away from her. She felt it slide over her skin, each taut feather a finger, and when it was gone the light was gone too. Slowly she lifted her head and looked into Oliver’s face. His warm blue gaze blinked at her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“It’s… I’m hot,” she said, flexing her fingers. He rolled away from her, and she saw they were lying on the ground, and a fire was behind him, energetically consuming a large log. Was that why her arms were burning?

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “You need your rest to translate those books.” He put a finger on her nose and smiled.

She relaxed, and her mouth opened slightly. “I miss you,” she said. He raised an eyebrow. “Felicity,” he said, and his face blurred as he leaned slowly towards her. Then a terrible beast rose up from behind him over his shoulder - a bear. It growled and swatted down at them with his paw, and she saw the jagged line of its nails drag across the skin there. She screamed and clutched at him.

“Oliver!” she screamed. “Behind you! Get down!”

 

>>\--->

 

Some sound, a far away gasp or the scream of an owl overhead, jolted Oliver awake, and he saw a thick, nailed cudgel slamming down at him. It gashed his shoulder, and he rolled without thinking, jamming his head into his assailant’s knees as he came up. The man fell to the ground. Oliver punched him in the throat with the heel of his hand and then slammed his head into the dirt until he felt his attacker go slack. Out of the corner of his eye he saw two more men reach Malcolm, and, grabbing the cudgel, he flew to him, kicking the first assailant in the groin and slamming the cudgel into the back of the other man’s head. He felt his skull give way, and the man slumped to the ground.

Malcolm stared up at him, he mouth open, and then he was on his feet, his face a scowl of rage. He kicked the other man over and over in the stomach and then the neck. The man lapsed into unconsciousness. “You _dare_ attack angels,” Malcolm yelled, still kicking. “You **_dare_**?”

Oliver tossed the cudgel aside and pulled Malcolm off. “You’ll kill him,” he said.

Malcolm glanced over his shoulder as he rained down more kicks. “Yes,” he said fiercely.

Oliver wrenched him off. “And we won’t know _why_ he attacked us.” He gestured to the other man. “This one is dead, and I don’t know about the man over there. We need one of them to talk.”

Malcolm’s chest heaved as he struggled to control himself. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees. “They would have killed us! Does it matter why?”

“It does,” Oliver said, flipping over the first man’s body to check to see if he was still breathing. He was. “This is not the first time I’ve been attacked in Veter. When I returned to Karelia, Barry and I were attacked by men at night in the same way - at night in one of these camp spots not far north of here.”

Malcolm stilled. “You think the men of Veter are targeting _angels_?”

Oliver went to get some rope from his pack. “Not Veter necessarily,” he said. “We were on the border of Veter and Ogon then too. This is the second time in two months, though. I think they’re using these camp spots as angel traps. Now help me tie these two up, and then we can talk about what we should do about it.”

 

>>\--->

 

Felicity spent the rest of the night restlessly wondering what her dream had meant. Her fingers still prickled, but as the night went on they burned less and less. In the morning, however, a minor miracle occurred, to distract her from her worry: Barry returned with good news - the wheat from the fields was being collected. While no one in Zvyozda had celebrated Lada and Lela’s Day yesterday with singing or dancing, Felicity knew this was a sign from the gods to _hope_.

“Most of it was already cut,” Barry told Felicity and Tommy. He’d interrupted their meager breakfast. “Before the Skalvians came, it was drying in the fields. We are lucky it hasn’t rained and didn’t spoil. There’s wheat and barley, and even some rye.” His smile was infectious, and Felicity felt like laughing. She’d been hungry for days. This morning there wasn’t even milk in her kasha. 

“It was just sitting there?” she asked.

“Yes, in sheaves. The Skalvians didn’t even touch most of it,” Barry said. “Some of the fields did burn, but that seems to have been from the fire spreading from the burning villages. The Skalvians don’t seem to have taken any of the wheat. They left these odd circles in their path, but none of the grain was destroyed.”

“And the refugees?” Tommy asked.

“They’re making their way to Ladoga and threshing as they go - at least past the perimeter where it’s safe. Within ten versts of the castle they’re not harvesting anything. Only angels are.”

“Angels?” Felicity asked.

“Believe it or not, there are angels who want to help,” Barry said. “We’re not monsters. Many volunteered to take refugees out of Zvyozda - and not just angels from Zemlya. Angelas have been leading the evacuation.”

“The angelas have?” Felicity asked.

“Most of the angels have been training to fight the Skalvians,” Tommy said. “The clan men have been digging out the tunnels. They’re stronger than women, and the tunnel space is too low and narrow for angels’ wings. The angelas decided to lead the evacuation. They know the responsibility that angels have in protecting the people in their clans. We’ve all been taught that since birth.” 

A thought struck Felicity. “Mero hasn’t come in the mornings all week.”

Barry nodded. “She’s been flying people out. They’ve created a schedule. They fly people out to the safe zone and fly grain back for two nights, then they lead groups out towards Ladoga for two nights, and then they return to Zvyozda and rest. Most of the angelas are not used to heavy lifting or sustained work, so they have to have time to recover.”

“The tunnels are clear now?” Tommy asked.

“The blockage is finally clear. Ogonians did most of that,” Barry said. “They have experience with mining. It’s been a group effort, but everyone understands the urgency of getting food inside the castle. They’re even bringing back hay, although soon it probably won’t be necessary.”

Felicity looked at him sharply. “Why won’t it be necessary?”

Tommy crossed his arms. “Because people are slaughtering the animals for food. They’ll still need hay for sanitation, of course.”

Felicity felt her throat close. “How much of the livestock is gone?”

“Did you have meat in your soup last night?” Barry asked.

“Yes,” Felicity said. Not much, but there had been a little beef in the broth to make it taste like something other than vegetables in water.

“Felicity, even the cats in the castle are going missing,” Tommy said. “Dogs too. Some of the refugees are getting desperate. I’m not sure how much food there even is in Veter.”

“They’re eating the _cats_?” Felicity asked. She had a sickening realization. “Quirinius! I never got Quirinius from our house! What will Dally say if he comes back and finds someone ate his cat?”

Tommy gave her a strange look. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“This is the orange cat, right? Anton brought Quirinius here the day after you came. I saw Mila take him. He’s been living in the storerooms keeping the rats at bay.”

Now she was confused. Anton had come here? To Oliver’s house? “Why would Anton bring Quirinius here?”

“I don’t think Anton was concerned about the cat, Felicity. I think he came to see if Oliver meant to keep you,” Tommy said.

“Keep me?”

“Yes, you know. If he truly meant to claim you or if it had only been a stunt.” Tommy looked at Barry who looked uncomfortable. “I’ve got to fly,” Barry said. “So much to do.” And he was gone.

Felicity turned back to Tommy, confused. “Why would Anton care? He was glad enough to get my father’s job and his house.” She thought again of the excitement in his face when Malcolm had appointed him librarian and felt sick. Anton had worked for Dally for years. He’d often had supper with them in their house.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Because he wanted _the daughter_ along with the house and position.”

Felicity thought back to Anton and his attention to her back in Ogon. It hadn’t seemed inappropriate. “He didn’t,” she said. “He was never that way with me. He and Kalina...”

“What does Kalina have to do with this?” Tommy asked. “There’s no limit on how many women an angel can want.”

“You think he wanted… You think he wanted me like _that_?” How could he think she’d do that to her best friend? And would he have used her in the same way? It was a horrible thought.

“Probably. I don’t know. Maybe he would have done better by you. You do seem strangely at the center of what’s happening in Zvyozda, and Anton’s worked for your father for years. All I know is that he came with the cat and Mila took him, and then Oliver told him to get out.”

“Oliver told him to get out?”

“I don’t think he was impressed with Anton’s disloyalty to your father or to you,” Tommy said.

Felicity didn’t know what to think about that, but she didn’t have any more time for Anton and what he wanted. “So Quirinius is in the storerooms. Well, good. Dally won’t kill me. He is very fond of that cat, although he’ll deny it. Look, Tommy,” she said, “I found something in one of the books.”

“Alright.” Tommy walked over to one of the benches and sat down, and she joined him.

“But I don’t know how it helps us. Actually, I’m not even sure any of this is real.”

“Any of what is real?” Tommy asked.

She leaned in closer. “Any of this magic. How do we know it really exists? I mean, besides any of the little tricks people do like lighting candles or hiding doors?”

Tommy looked exasperated. He held out his hand, and two of his fingers disappeared.

Felicity crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe that’s not magic, maybe it’s just a gift from the gods. Sometimes they do bless us with abilities or intervene on our behalf in mysterious ways. And look at Dally. If he were an amazing ‘magician’ why would have have spent his younger years in slavery or his older years copying books in a dimly lit library? There have to be easier ways to do things. If he were very powerful why would he have spent his time in obscurity, married to a woman who patted him on his head when he grumped at her and raising a child who wasn’t even his own?”

“Perhaps because he loved you?” Tommy said. “There’s nothing inherently exciting about doing magic. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I feel certain that none of the gods blessed me with my abilities, in any case. Why would they? I was already Malcolm’s son.”

“The gods have their reasons, and they’re beyond our knowing,” Felicity said. She could tell he wasn’t taking her entirely seriously.

“What did Dally teach you about magic exactly?”

Felicity frowned. “He had me read the history of magic, and he gave me several books of minor spells, but I never got very far with them.”

Tommy leaned over and put his hands together on his knees. “The way Adalbert explained it to me - and, granted I didn’t pay that close attention to the details because I didn’t care back then - was that there are three things necessary for magic to happen.” Tommy ticked them off on his fingers. “Magic has to exist, it has to be channeled, and there has to be some sort of directed action.”

“Directed action?”

“Yes,” Tommy said. “Think of it this way: some people seem to be very magical; doing magic comes very easily to them. It’s for one of two reasons. It’s either because they’re naturally very magic or because that magic has a clear channel to flow through. If there isn’t much magic or the channel is narrow or practically nonexistent, they won’t ‘be’ magic.”

She frowned. “Who’s magic?”

Tommy shrugged. “Lots of people. I’m sure you know someone who cooks or bakes very well. Milusa, Svetka’s mother, she’s one. Everything she bakes tastes like a dream. I could try and try and never match her. Not that I have.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She probably has a little magic, and it channels itself through her talent and reveals itself when she bakes.”

“Like your stealing,” she said.

“Exactly. Even before I studied with Adalbert, I could pocket anything I wanted to and no one would notice. Most people have some sort of gift. Angels do too, but we don’t talk about it because people think that being an angel is power enough and it’s not right for us to be magical _and_ work magic.

“But magic doesn’t care about what’s fair or unfair. It exists where it will and goes where it may, in people and in the world. Magic exists all around us, and it flows through things like ley lines and concentrates itself in certain places. To use it people cast spells. How well they work depends on how strong the magic is, how well the magician understands the process, and how much magic is pooled where they are being cast. Does that makes sense?”

“So when I tried to do magic and couldn’t, it was because…”

“Where did you try?”

“In Ryn and here too. A few times.”

“Mount Lyeda is a very powerful hub for magic, but if you weren’t using a good spell or don’t have much magic…”

“I understand,” Felicity said, “in theory. In any case, in this book I read on earth magic, there’s a spell for shaping or manipulating iron.”

“And since Dally’s has an iron shackle…” Tommy said.

“Exactly. This book says that iron isn’t just a good channel for magic, it’s used to keep demons and other evil forces powerless or away.” Felicity traced her finger over her wrist. “It’s possible they’ve put Dally in shackles because _they think_ he is too powerful. Even if he isn’t.”

“I think he is,” Tommy said. “How does that affect our rescuing him?”

“Well, if they’re right, it means Dally won’t be able to do the spell to open the shackle, so you’ll have to.”

Tommy’s face fell. “I can’t. I can’t do spells. Adalbert and I - we worked on my spell casting, and I was hopeless.”

“But you said that you have to have magic and you have to channel it. Which you can. So it’s a matter of finding the right spell, then? Unless you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Tommy said. “I’m just terrible at casting spells.”

“Then we’re going to have to work on making you better,” Felicity said. “We’ll have to practice, and we should start right now. It’s the only way we’re going to get Dally out of this.”

 

>>\--->

 

It took all of the morning and part of the day for Malcolm to fly to the next angel’s hold and bring back help. By then Oliver had sewn up the gash in his arm and questioned the attacker who gained consciousness, but he’d had little success. The man refused to talk and would have to be persuaded, but not by him.

Malcolm seemed to have no hesitation about using other methods. “Take these two men back to your hold,” Malcolm said to the four angels from Ogan who had come back with him to help.  ”Find out why they attacked us and who they are working with. I’ll return in a few days, and I want the information they have by then. Do whatever it takes.”  

The four angels nodded among themselves. “We will,” the tallest one said, giving the captives a malevolent glance. “They may know where one of our friends has disappeared to.”

“What should we do with the body?” an angel with long, dark hair asked.

“Build a gibbet and hang the body, so that other angels who might travel here know to be wary,” Malcolm said. “And let every angel in Ogon know what happened here.”

Oliver put a hand on his arm. “You don’t want to do that.”

Malcolm glared at him, and Oliver felt the rebuke like a slap. “And why not?” Malcolm asked.

“Because you don’t want anyone to know that they caught you off guard,” Oliver said softly, leaning in. “And we don’t want any others of this sort to know that we’re aware of what’s going on.”

Malcolm put a thumb through the stubble on his chin. “Bury the body,” he told the angels, “and let every angel up and down the border know that angels were attacked here and north of here, but tell them the information is to stay among angels only - for our safety.” He looked at Oliver who nodded.

“We need to get to Yasna Gora,” Oliver said. “If we leave now, we can still get there while it is light.”

The two of them left the angels to deal with the men, strapped on their packs, and launched into the air, flying east at a quick pace.

Much of Veter was forested; trees were the clan’s largest resource. Oliver could see areas cleared for farming, large orchards full of fruit, and areas that had been replanted with trees of various sizes. Veter had a bit of a backward reputation among the other clans, but at the local level the towns and villages seemed prosperous. All of the larger ones had both grain mills and sawmills, and logs flowed down the Varta River in clumps, ridden by men who guided them using large wooden poles with metal picks on their ends.

In late afternoon they stopped in a large field and ate the boiled eggs and rye bread they had left. Oliver foraged for berries in the brambles that lined the field. When he sat down next to Malcolm on a felled tree, Malcolm said, “Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“I may not have seemed appreciative before,” Malcolm said, “but I know I’d be dead if you hadn’t taken care of those two men. You’re a very effective fighter.”

Oliver bobbed his chin in acknowledgement. “The Angel Corps,” he said. “You learn always to be on your guard.”

“That explains how you reacted so fast,” Malcolm said. “Did you hear them?”

“I...don’t know,” Oliver said, remembering the scream and the prickling in his hands. His gift had obviously saved him again.

“Well, in any case, you acted on behalf of all Karelia. Two angel clan leaders dead would have been disastrous, and not just for the angels in Zvyozda, but the people too, including Felicity.”

Oliver had a nagging feeling about his wife. He was forgetting something. He brushed it off. “Felicity would say the gods protected us. Matka and Perun probably.” He smiled.

“Yes, she probably would,” Malcolm said, “if she’s anything like her mother. I could never change her mind about those superstitions.”

“She may be right,” Oliver said. “Who knows why I woke when I did?”

Malcolm frowned. “You don’t believe in these Karelian gods? You seem very intelligent. That was good advice you gave me back there for dealing with our attackers.”

Oliver put a hand through his beard. “I don’t _not_ believe,” he said. “I’ve seen many things in my work for the empire that I can’t explain.”

“That’s magic,” Malcolm said, waving a hand. “It’s a tool, useful and controllable. I’m talking about larger things - like why the Skalvians are attacking now. There has to be a reason, and it’s not that ‘ _the gods are angry_ ’ because we don’t give them enough wailing and chanting.”

“Don’t say that to Felicity,” Oliver said. “She doesn’t think her devotion is stupid.”

“And what about you?” Malcolm looked genuinely curious, and Oliver realized that in the events of the past few days Malcolm had begun to view him as someone worthy of his interest and attention. Was that a good thing?

“What I know is that no man will truly listen to you if he believes you do not respect him,” Oliver finally said. “No woman either.”

Malcolm gave a knowing smile, “And you’d like Felicity to listen to you. I understand. Say no more.”

“No, it’s not that,” Oliver said. “But to use Felicity as an example, she lights a candle to Matka Zemlya every morning and every evening and she has certain prayers and devotions. I don’t really understand them, but I understand this is a part of her. She sees Karelia and the world through these stories and traditions.”

“But they’re absurd,” Malcolm said. “The lightning god, the white god, the black god, the god who drives the sun across the sky... Everything can be explained by either nature or magic.”

“So you don’t believe in any of it?” Oliver asked.

Malcolm shifted his weight on the log. “There may be truth to some of it - a _little_ of it,” he said. “But not for the reasons she thinks. There are omens, curses, prophecies, and magic, but these things don’t happen at the whim of a forest god or the moist mother earth.”

“Well, she thinks they are, and I don’t know, so I’m not telling her she’s wrong.”

“Because she’ll get mad,” Malcolm said. “Donna would get so upset when I wouldn’t let her do her little rituals in my house. We would always argue.” His face softened a little.

Oliver blinked hard. How could he explain this? “No, it’s because this is a part of who she is. It’s possible she’s brilliant and brave because she believes these things.”

“Brilliant?” Malcolm laughed. “She bright. She’s always been bright. And she’s very pretty.” He clapped a hand on Oliver’s back. “Well, you’re young. Beautiful women still have that power. They can lead you around by your poker, drive you mad, and you’ll keep coming back. Try to stay within the realm of reality, though, or they’ll make a fool out of you.”

Oliver took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. “Alright,” he said, “but Malcolm, when we get to Veter, will you let me talk to the priests? You said they rule Yasna Gora. At least allow me take the lead on observing the rites. I know them. You can speak for Zvyozda. I’ll defer to you on plans for defending it against the Skalvians, but when it comes to the rituals and interactions watch what I do and follow along.”

Malcolm looked amused. “Do you think they’ll call on the gods or attack us with candles? They wouldn’t dare.”

Oliver heard Felicity’s voice in his head: _Byelobog protect us_. “I don’t know what they’ll do, but we’re going there for help. It’s best if we not tell them how little you think of their gods.”

Malcolm laughed again. “Fine,” he said. “I owe you a debt for saving my life, so I’ll do what you do in Yasna Gora - because you asked so nicely.”

 

>>\--->

 

The men of Veter had been building their wooden cities for centuries before the angels came, situating them in and around sacred forests like the one that covered Yasna Gora. Atop this mountain those ancient lumbermen had built an impressive fortress from enormous larch logs to protect this most important city in Veter where the high priest of all the clans lived and communicated with both gods and their worshippers. An enormous primeval forest stretching west to east across the center of Karelia and beyond enveloped Yasna Gora. Oliver and Malcolm flew over miles of endless wooded lands, following the route of the Varta until they finally glimpsed the tall walls of the fortress jutting out from the mountain at steep angles.  

Oliver immediately saw the problem: every possible landing surface was topped with iron spikes. Even the path leading up the mountain was dotted with spikes taller than any man.

“An angel could impale himself on those, if he weren’t careful,” Malcolm said, as he landed in the sand of the Varta near the entrance to the fortress trail.

“That’s the point,” Oliver said grimly. “Obviously the people here intend to protect themselves from any intruder coming from land, water, or the air,” That many iron spikes driven into the hard rock of the mountain could only mean angels were unwelcome here.

The trail up the mountain did not require a guard as anyone - man or angel - who wanted access to the city would have to climb, head down and bowed before the gods, his eyes on his own steps. It was purposefully difficult and humbling. He wondered how they got supplies up. Was there a secret entrance in this mountain too?

Oliver and Malcolm climbed up the trail all afternoon through the sandy soil, the damp air, and swarms of bugs, Malcolm getting more and more irritated by the minute. By this time Oliver was exhausted too. He’d not gotten much sleep last night, and the climb in addition to the flight had tired him. The stitches in his shoulder throbbed with pain. He had half made up his mind to stop and camp for the night when he finally caught sight of the sky. The fortress was just ahead of them, looming like an angry god.

This close he could see the ornately carved buildings that towered over the tall fortress walls. They were similar to Karelian architecture he’s seen elsewhere in southern Veter. When they reached the fortress gate, he put a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder. “There’s a protocol we need to follow because this is holy ground. Also try not to look like you’re going to murder everyone.” He slung his pack to the ground. Malcolm nodded tightly and removed his pack as well.

Oliver knelt before the large oak that overlooked the gate. Scattered amongst its roots were a variety of small objects. Oliver took two coins from his pack and his last remaining loaf of rye bread and placed them on the largest root. The guards overhead glowered at them for a few minutes and then one called out, “Perun wills all to state their aims before they may enter Yasna Gora.”

Oliver bowed then gestured to Malcolm, “I am Oliver, an angel from Zemlya, and this is Malcolm who is lately acting Archangel of Zvyozda. We’ve come to seek the wisdom of your priests.”

The guard called out, “Place any weapons in the wooden box at the foot of the gate.” The other guard disappeared.

“No weapons?” Malcolm asked. “They tell angels to disarm themselves? Do they know what we can do?”

“Just do it,” Oliver said. He reached into his vest and took out his dagger and unbuckled the short sword at his waist. Malcolm grumbled but did the same. The guard stared down at them for several long moments, and then finally the wooden gate creaked open. Inside a line of soldiers awaited them, their hands on their swords.

“You are to come with us,” the leader of the guard said, and a soldier stepped from behind them and pushed them forward.


	14. The Aspirations of Priests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprises await Malcolm and Oliver in Yasna Gora, and Tommy and Felicity seek help from Kalina's family in order to free Adalbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a long, looooooong time since the last one, but here is the next installment of the adventures of Oliver, Felicity, and Tommy. I hope you are enjoying the complex world they live in and the challenges they're facing. I had a good time exploring Veter and understanding what motivates the people of this clan. 
> 
> As always, comments on this fic are always welcome!

Felicity ran her finger over the text again, and then carefully shut the book she was reading. It was a thin volume devoted to the earth’s elements and the practicalities of magic. There was a spell here that claimed to change iron into lead. She needed to show this to Tommy and ask him to try it. He was probably down in the hidden room checking on the boy he picked up in the Skalvians’ camp to see how he was interacting with his children and Sveta. This Roy was proving to be a handful neither Milusa nor Ziva wanted to deal with.

She threw on a shawl and headed down the stairs. There were people in the hall as usual, but they were huddled in groups, waiting for the day’s meal. Even the children were quieter. She waved at Mila in the kitchen, and the older woman gave her a distracted smile as she doled out the day’s kasha ration.

At least the wooden barrels down in the storeroom held new wheat. No doubt Quirinius had his work cut out for him keeping the rats from this feast. She walked down the corridor to the secret rooms until she reached the approximate location of the second one, and she called out. “Tommy! It’s Felicity. I need to talk to you.”

After a moment she heard footsteps, and a door opened in the rock. A face peeked out. It was Baby Vova who was clasping a handful of Tommy’s black hair in his fist. “You called?” Tommy said, smiling. Behind him Roy leaped out, yelling, “Boo!” The baby shrieked and then clapped his hands together, and Roy laughed.

Tommy shrugged Vova off his shoulders and handed him to Roy. “What is it?” he asked Felicity.

“I found that spell I was telling you about,” Felicity said. She tugged Tommy into the corridor. “It’s a spell that may turn iron into lead.”

Tommy’s eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“Yes, but we need to test it out on a real shackle. First, we need to see if it can be done and, second, if you can open the lead shackle after it’s transformed. Do you think there are any here?”

“I don’t see why there would be,” Tommy said. “Zemlya doesn’t even have a holding room, let alone a dungeon. We’d have to get a shackle from Ogon, but I’m sure my father’s given his housekeeper instructions to bar the door against me.”

“I can get a shackle, I think,” Felicity said, “if you can fly me to Ogon.”

“Where?”

“Kalina’s husband, Ludek, is a smith. He’ll help if I ask.”

 

>>\--->

 

As they flew over the walls separating Veter Quarter and Ogon, a small crowd was gathering in Veter’s square, but the quarter was otherwise quiet. Felicity noted that Hugo had cleared the refugees out of the streets and alleys. Tommy circled once over the square, but they couldn’t see what was going on, only that people appeared to be agitated. One woman had collapsed on the ground and two others were trying to aid her.

In Ogon they passed over Adalbert’s house, and Felicity directed Tommy past the large and spacious home of Kalina’s family and into the alleyways of the workers’ section. Kalina’s father was a merchant with interests in a number of ventures on the Amber Road, but her husband was a blacksmith, and his family’s house and forge were several tiers lower down the mountain.

The alley containing Ludek’s forge was so narrow that Tommy had to alight and walk, folding his wings carefully into his body. The upper stories of the buildings jutted over the street, blocking out much of the light. As they approached the smithy, Felicity could see the fires of the forge through two open iron doors. “I have to talk to Kalina first,” Felicity said, “and Ludek’s mother will need to be given her due. She hates angels, but if we avoid her, she’ll make the rest of Kalina’s week miserable.”

“She sounds like a delight,” Tommy said.

“Shh,” Felicity said and knocked on the faded wooden door of the house.

Kalina opened it, her mouth opening in surprise. “Felicity!” She leaned her head out and whispered. “What are you doing here?” Then she saw Tommy and drew back. “You brought _him_ here?”

“I have a name,” Tommy said, “and you know how to say it.”

Kalina ducked her head, a tiny smile pulling at her mouth.

“It was necessary,” Felicity said. “It’s not easy getting in and out of the quarters these days.”

“Even for an angel’s wife?” Kalina asked, her brown hair was tucked up underneath a red kerchief, but several thick curls were peeking out. She looked so familiar and homey that Felicity felt a lump well in her throat. She had missed her friend.

“Even then,” Felicity said, leaning in to hug Kalina. “Tommy is here to help. We need to see your husband.”

“Ludek?” Kalina asked. “He’s next door.”

“Who’s there?” a sharp voice behind her called. “Kalina, do you have visitors?” It sounded more like an accusation than a question, and Kalina stiffened in Felicity’s embrace.

“It’s my friend Felicity, Mother,” Kalina said, “and Angel Thomas, Angel Malcolm’s son.”

“Not anymore,” Tommy said under his breath.

“Angel Thomas?” the voice asked, suspicious, but there was a note of interest there too. “Invite them in.”  

Kalina ushered them into a large open room. It was dark, but there were lamps on the fireplace mantle and a candle on the table where an old woman was sitting. “Mother,” Kalina said, “you know Felicity, and this is Angel Thomas, of course.” She gestured at Tommy. “Angel Thomas, these are my husband’s parents, Zlata and Mirko.”

Zlata stared openly at Tommy. She was a thin woman with a square face. Her brown wool kirtle was flecked with spit up. She was holding Gosia in her arms, bouncing her briskly.

Felicity squinted in the dim light. Mirko was seated next to the fireplace in a chair. He was an older man with still impressive bulk, and his head was wrapped in a bandage. She went to him and touched his hand. “Have you hurt yourself, Mirko?”

Mirko opened his mouth, but Zlata said, “He’s been clearing rubble out of the tunnels, and he got careless.” Mirko made a face and shrugged his shoulders.

Felicity rummaged through the bag she’d brought with her. “I have a little salve you can use,” she said. “I brought it for Zlata because she gets headaches, but it should help heal an injury too. May I look?” She waited for Mirko’s permission, and he nodded.

“You shouldn’t waste that on him,” Zlata said. “He’ll be fine. He always is. This is hardly his first scrape.”

Felicity carefully unrolled the bandage on his forehead. “You’re still clearing out the tunnels?”

Mirko nodded. “We finished the main tunnel last week, but Malcolm asked the men from Ogon to clear out all the other tunnels underneath the mountain.”

“All of them?” Tommy asked, his forehead creasing.

Mirko nodded. “There are tunnels in every quarter. Although not all of them are still used, they’re interconnected. There’s some kind of pattern, but I’ve never seen a map or anything. We were told to shovel, and we shoveled - until the tunnel collapsed.”

Felicity had to tug to separate the crust of blood from his skin, and underneath the wound looked inflamed. She pointed to a kettle in the fireplace. “Is that water warm?”

Kalina stepped forward, grabbing a towel. “Yes. I’ll pour it for you.”

“This wound is festering,” Felicity said. “Do you have any soap?”

“What does it matter?” Zlata asked. “If what they’re saying about Veter is true, we’ll all be dead soon anyway.” Gosia, in her lap, looked nauseated from the bouncing. A dribble of spit leaked out from her pink lips.

“What are they saying?” Tommy asked. Felicity took the cloth Kalina offered her and began to clean out the wound. Mirko flinched but allowed her to continue.

“That camp fever is running through the quarter like a rabid boar.” Zlata narrowed her eyes at Tommy. “You must have flown over it. Didn’t you see anything?”

“There were some people gathering in the square,” Tommy said, “but they didn’t look sick.” Felicity opened her container of salve and smoothed some on Mirko’s forehead.

“‘They didn’t look sick,’” Zlata repeated. “How high were you flying? How would you know?”

“Low enough to see chaos in the quarter,” Tommy said. “There wasn’t any.”

Zlata looked at Felicity who shook her head to verify what Tommy had said, then came over and touched Gosia’s cheek. Felicity turned to Kalina, smiling. “Gosia’s gotten so big.”

“Kalina is fortunate someone here knows how to take care of a baby,” Zlata said, “instead of just how to make one.”

Kalina’s face burned red, and she busied herself tidying the hearth. Tommy tilted his head and stared at Zlata in a fascinated way. Felicity put the bandage back on Mirko’s head, with the cleanest part on the wound. Finally Mirko said, “Zlata.”

“What?” Zlata asked. “You know I’m right. She doesn’t even diaper her right, and she doesn’t nurse her enough. What good is she?”

Mirko said, “She’s our son’s wife and Gosia’s m--”

“I should take Ludek some water,” Kalina interrupted. “Felicity wanted to speak with him. Shall we go see him in the forge now?” She turned to Felicity.

Felicity wasn’t certain if she would be making Kalina’s life in this house worse if she tried to defend her friend, so she only nodded, and the three of them went outside to the forge. Ludek was alone there, working over an anvil, intent on flattening a long piece of iron. The room was hot, but Ludek wore a thick leather apron and long sleeves. Sparks fell on the dirt floor with each fall of his hammer. He was a short, red-haired, barrel-chested man at least ten years older than Kalina.

Ludek looked up in the same surprise his wife had shown. “Felicity!” he said. Kalina put her jug of water on the table beside the forge while Ludek pulled out a piece of cloth and rubbed the sweat that was running into his beard. Then he saw Tommy. “Angel Thomas,” he said, bowing his head, “it’s an honor to welcome you here. What can I do for you?”

Felicity laughed. “You don’t have to help him, Ludek,” she said. “He’s just my transportation. You have to help _me_.”

“I do?” Ludek said. The creases around his eyes deepened. “How am I going to do that?”

“I need you to make a pair of iron shackles,” Felicity said, “as soon as you can.” She didn’t have time to beat around the bush. “I’ll pay you, of course, but I need them right away.”

Ludek frowned. “What do you need shackles for? Are the angels in Zemlya not treating you right?” He smiled at his own joke.

Felicity, startled by his intuitiveness, plunged on. “It’s not to chain anyone up. I need it for other reasons.”

Ludek poured water from the jug into a pewter cup and took a deep drink. “I’ll need more of an explanation than that if you want shackles. This sounds like something you shouldn’t be mixing yourself up into.”

Felicity saw Tommy nod his head and smile. “I don’t know why you’re concerned,” she said.

Ludek crossed his arms. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps it’s because the wolves are howling at the door, and you’re a girl barely out of braids who shouldn’t have any need for iron shackles. I’ve seen the kind of trouble the you and Kalina can get into, and that was before all of this.”

“I can take care of myself,” Felicity said, stiffening. “And anyway there’s Tommy.” She waved in his direction.

Ludek didn’t look impressed. “Does your husband know you’re here?” he asked. Tommy grinned and raised an eyebrow at Felicity.

“He doesn’t,” Felicity said, “but that’s only because he is not in Zvyozda just now.” She looked through the doors of the forge at the empty street. “Don’t tell anyone I told you that. Not that it’s a secret.” She straightened. “He left me in charge of his house.”

“And that’s fine if you’re dealing with refugee problems with angels to back you up,” Ludek said. “Is that why you need the shackles? The refugees?”

Felicity thought about lying to him. It seemed easier than explaining everything. She glanced at Kalina.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I trust him,” Kalina said.

Felicity sighed. “It’s for Adalbert.”

Ludek sighed. “That figures. Does this have anything to do with magic?”

“Why would you think that?” Felicity asked, crossing her arms.

“Adalbert is the only person the Skalvians have taken and not killed.” Ludek said. “He is alive, yes? Kalina looked over all of the heads in front of the castle, but she did not find his.”

“You did that?” Felicity turned to Kalina. “For me?”

Kalina nodded. “If his head had been among them, I would have come to you in Zemlya, no matter what the gate angel said, but it wasn’t, so I petitioned the gods instead on his behalf. I knew that’s what you would want.”

Felicity gave her a quick hug. “I have heard that he is alive,” she said. “The Skalvians are holding him in iron shackles.”

“Because he’s a magician,” Ludek said.

Again Felicity stared at him.

“Waldhar brought Adalbert here as a slave, freed him, and then Malcolm arranged for him to marry your mother and live in Ogon.” Ludek ticked off these things on his fingers. “He’s been Zvyozda’s librarian for almost two decades, and his house is full of books, some of which have to be about magic. There are always strange people visiting him. I don’t know anything about magic, but this isn’t hard to put together, Felicity.”

“He doesn’t do magic.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Ludek said.

“Who else thinks this?” Felicity asked.

“Everyone in Ogon and most of Zvyozda,” Ludek said.

Felicity’s heart beat faster. “Then why have they allowed him to live quietly among them? Aren’t they afraid of magic?”

“People like that he’s a magician,” Ludek said. “It helps that he is so outwardly hostile to Malcolm and the other angels. He may not do magic - we prefer it that way - but his existence here keeps Malcolm’s power in check. He’s obviously wary of Adalbert. They like that.”

Tommy looked interested. “They do?”

Ludek gave him a steady look. “They do. Not everyone in Ogon Quarter loves your father.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” Tommy said. “He threw his grandchildren out to starve. Still, Ogon is better off than the other three quarters. It’s by far the most prosperous.”

“The other three quarters are run by an old angel, a stupid one,” Ludek glanced at Felicity, “and until lately no one. That’s not much of a recommendation. Malcolm grows richer while his people labor in his mines for slave wages, and no one does anything about the angels raping our women here in Zvyozda.”

Felicity pressed on. “So, yes, they’re for Adalbert. I have a friend who can do magic, but he isn’t... _confident_ in his abilities. So I need to get him a pair of shackles to practice on.”

“How is _your friend_ going to get to Adalbert?” Ludek looked sharply at Tommy. “You’re not letting her go to the Skalvians’ camp, are you?”

“No,” Felicity said. “Tommy doesn’t have anything to say about it, but I’m not. I couldn’t help anyway. I don’t have any magic.” She gave Ludek her most entreating look. “My friend does, though, and he’s willing to take the risk, so I need you to say the prayers when you forge the iron. You do know them, right? To Kovlad the Ironkeeper? If you don’t know the prayers, I will find someone who does. They have to be perfectly forged with the blessing of the god.”

“Yes, I know,” Ludek said. “My father taught me smithing, and he certainly knows Kovlad the Iron Keeper.”

“Mirko is very skilled, I know. This is just important, so I need you to give all the honors.” Felicity pulled out a small flask from the bag around her waist. “I have some rainwater that has been collected from rock holes for the blessing.”

“How did you know?” Ludek asked, but then shook his head. “I won’t ask. Fine, I will make the shackles for you - if you _swear_ to me you are not the one who will be rescuing Adalbert. I have some iron Malcolm gave me, so I can have them ready two days from now. I’ll need replacement iron, though.”

Felicity bounced on the balls of her feet. “I swear,” she said. “I’ll have Tommy fly back to pick them up, and, yes, I’ll replace the iron. I’ll find some somewhere in Zemlya. Oliver will not begrudge it to me.”

Tommy was looking at Ludek curiously. “My father gave you iron...to make what?” he asked.

Ludek frowned. “It was an odd request. He described the design to me himself.” He gestured with his hands. “He wanted flat strips of iron bent at right angles exactly in the middle, he said. Angle irons. I don’t know what he means to use them for, but angels have your ways.” He swiped his forehead again with the cloth in his hand.

“Angle irons,” Tommy said. He rubbed his hand over the black stubble on his chin.

“Thank you, Ludek,” Felicity said. She clapped her hands together. “You are helping more than you know. I won’t forget this.”

 

>>\--->

 

“I don’t have a confidence problem,” Tommy told Felicity as they made their way back through the narrow alley. “I have an _ability_ problem. I told you, I don’t cast spells well, particularly transformation spells.”

Felicity sighed deeply. “It’s not like you have to transform the shackles into a piglet. You just have to make them into lead or bronze. Leodegar says that’s simple magic.”

Tommy rolled his eyes at her. “Simple then. Why didn’t I see it? I only have to change iron into some other metal. That’s alchemy, Felicity, and if anyone here knew how to do it, he’d be wealthy beyond his own dreams.”

“Like your father,” Felicity said.

Tommy narrowed at her. “I can’t think about that now.”

“I wonder if Malcolm knows about Leodegar,” she said.

Tommy ducked under the arch leading into the wider road and unfurled his wings. “Who is Leodegar? I’ve never heard of him, and Adalbert trained me in magic for over a year.”

“He’s the author of a grimoire,” Felicity said, “the one I found the transformation spell in. He seems to have been a very powerful magician. Dally had one of his books in his own private collection, so that must mean something.”

“It could mean anything,” Tommy said. “The only books Adalbert let me read were either history or theory. This doesn’t sound like either.”

“It isn’t,” Felicity said. “It’s practical magic, from the everyday to the defensive, although I haven’t had a chance to read more than a quarter of it. Still, Leodegar says that belief in oneself is a necessity for doing magic.”

“I’m sure all I need to do is believe,” Tommy said, “and the riches of the world will appear before me.”

Felicity smacked him. “It couldn’t hurt.”

They walked downhill towards the open square and the space Tommy would need to ascend. “Did you know the miners were digging through the entire mountain? I don’t think _Oliver_ knew they’d be digging around in Zemlya’s quarter,” Tommy said. “At least he didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t think he knew either,” Felicity said, frowning. “I wonder what Malcolm is up to.”

“My father has a reason for everything he does,” Tommy said, “so those angle irons he’s having Ludek make have to have some purpose. We know iron calls to iron, and iron and magic go together. Lyeda is rich in iron, but the angels have left it there. They didn’t want it mined out.”

“If they mined the iron out now, it would disrupt the ley line,” Felicity said, thinking. “Perhaps Malcolm wants to disrupt the magic so the Skalvians can’t utilize it.”

“Seems a bit heroic for him,” Tommy said, but he had a flash of the memory of his father’s weakened body and drawn face.

The cobblestone path widened out, and she could see the area in front of the gate to Veter. People were gathered around pointing at something hanging from the curved metal arches of the gate: a long piece of black wool with a circlet of yellow sewn in its center.

Tommy and Felicity halted at the same time, and she grabbed his arm. “That’s a plague flag,” she said.

Tommy said, “Now we know what was going on this morning.”

“Yes, Veter has camp fever,” Felicity said. “And at least one person is dead from it.”

 

>>\--->

 

“You - come with us,” the leader of the guard said.

Oliver stared at the line of armed men in front of them and focused all of his energy into one thought: _Stay calm. Do not react._ He repeated it in his head while he took stock of the men surrounding them. Malcolm at first stiffened then slowly relaxed and turned his head. His eyes met Oliver’s with such understanding that Oliver for a moment thought perhaps he’d blurted his thoughts out loud.

“We’d be happy to,” Malcolm finally said. He lifted his hands at his sides to show his goodwill. “It was a long trip up the mountain, though. Could we have something to drink?”

A golden-haired priest with a long beard, the apparent leader of these men, met the eyes of  one of the guards at the edge of the group and jerked his head towards the interior of the fortress. He smiled in a not unfriendly way and said, “Of course. We’ve watched your journey and were impressed with the time you made. It’s not an easy path for men, let alone angels who are unaccustomed to walking. We’ll give you something to eat and drink shortly.”

The man beside Oliver nudged him, and Oliver moved forward along with the rest of the company, following the blond priest. They walked through a maze of multi-storied buildings, constructed one on top of another to make the most of the limited space within the fort’s walls. Their roofs, unlike the thatched ones in Ogon, were shingled with wood and their siding had faded to gray over time. Many of the houses were adorned with spindled woodwork and their doorways, balconies, and towers were intricately carved with pictures and symbols. Oliver saw bearded faces, musical instruments, swords, water, lightning, and many different animals and birds. Was there was a pattern? He couldn’t tell. They were walking too fast for him to focus on the details or their order.

They passed a large, cobbled square and finally arrived before a squat, unadorned building. Soldiers were practicing fighting moves, and their swords hit each other with a rhythmic _clang-clang_. The priest unbarred and opened the door, indicating they should enter.  Oliver stepped inside with Malcolm right behind him. They both had to stoop down so their wings would not scrape the lintel, but once inside, the ceiling was higher. A smoke hole in the center was the only light.  

The priest said, “Wait here,” then closed the door. “Maintain the sentry. I will inform the high priest that the angels have arrived.” Oliver heard the bar thunk into place again.

Oliver scanned the space, squinting in the gloom. There was a wide bench mounted on the wall, and Oliver eased his weight down on it.

Malcolm said, “This is a fine welcome to give the ruling angels of Karelia,” he said. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Wait,” Oliver said. “They’re being cautious. Obviously they don’t trust angels. If we demonstrate that we can be patient and are here to talk, they’ll be more willing to parley with us.”

“Parley?” Malcolm asked. “We don’t have time for negotiations.”

“The sun is setting,” Oliver said. “We had to stop for the night. Now we have somewhere to sleep and, I hope, a meal. We were almost out of food.”

Malcolm gave him a disgruntled look. “You seem unbothered by all of this.”

Oliver shrugged. “I’m here because Zvyozda needs help. We’re going to ask the Vetrians for theirs. If this is the price, I can afford to pay it.”

Malcolm scoffed. “You shouldn’t have to ask. You’re the clan leader of Zemlya.”

“And the Zemlyans are my priority,” Oliver said. “If we don’t get their help, those people will die. _Felicity_ will die.”

“You can evacuate her from Zvyozda anytime,” Malcolm shrugged. “That’s not a problem.”

“She won’t leave without Adalbert,” Oliver said. “You know that.”

Malcolm lips twisted in derision. “Force her to leave. You’re her husband.”

“I don’t want to force her. She’s doing good work in the quarter,” Oliver said. “I also want to get Adalbert back. We’re much more likely to defeat the Skalvians with his help.”

There was a scrape on the door, and it opened to reveal a red-headed young man carrying a jug and a basket. The soldiers gathered around him tightly, and Oliver wondered who he was, this serious boy in his long, woolen robe.

“I extend you Vetrian hospitality, the gifts of our gods,” the boy said. He laid the jug on the floor and put the basket beside it. Oliver smelled fresh bread. The boy reached into a pocket in his robe and pulled out a glass orb. “I cannot give you fire, but this will provide light.” He offered it to Malcolm who frowned but took it in his palm. Then the boy lifted the hinged top of a box built into the wall. “The nights grow cold as we approach Radegast’s Feast.” He pointed to several woolen blankets inside. “These will keep you comfortable. There is also a pot for your other needs. I will come to you again in the morning.” The red curls on his head bobbed as he nodded at them and left. The soldiers closed and barred the door once again.

“‘A pot for our other needs,’” Malcolm said. “Does he know who we _are_?”

Oliver whispered, “Do not anger them for your pride, Malcolm. If you do...” He drew a deep breath, “I won’t help you with any of the rest. I’ll do what I can to save Zemlya on my own. This isn’t a game. We are in real danger.”

“You’re not,” Malcolm scoffed. “I’ve seen you fight. You took down three men this morning, and you were barely awake.”

“We’re in enemy territory now, if you hadn’t noticed,” Oliver said. “As bizarre as that is. It should never have come to this. Veter is clan land.”

“Are you taking their side?” Malcolm looked incredulous.

“Clearly Hugo has been the worst possible clan leader if this is how Karelia’s priests receive angels now. What a fool.” Oliver shook his head, thinking through all of the actions and reactions that must have happened to make the most important city in Veter an armed fortress full of soldiers who took angels prisoner.

“These Vetrians--” Malcolm said.

Oliver turned to him. “Do not,” he said. “Don’t disparage them, even in your own mind. We know why they’re angry and why they don’t trust us. Everything we say or do here has to work to reverse that because, like it or not, we can’t afford to fight both the Skalvians and them.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes, and Oliver put a hand on his arm. “Let me talk to them.”

Malcolm shook his hold off. “Fine,” he said. “You deal with them. I won’t forget this. I won’t forget they imprisoned us in this hut instead of taking us directly to their high priest.”

It occurred to Oliver that Malcolm had no idea who that was. “What is the high priest’s name?”

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders.

The light in the cell was fading quickly, but Oliver could still see the dismissal on Malcolm’s face. “You don’t know who he is, do you? He’s not only the leader of Yasna Gora. All the priests in Karelia defer to him.”

“Fine, who is he?” Malcolm asked.

“His name is Boguslav,” Oliver said.

“Boguslav?”

“Yes. Adalbert told me. He’s been to Zvyozda to use the library’s resources many times. Felicity has a little book about Matka Zemlya that Boguslav had copied from his own library just for her.”

Malcolm laughed. “Adalbert - unsurprising. Whenever there’s a whiff of insurrection from the people, he’s in the thick of it fomenting more.”

“I’d hardly call it insurrection,” Oliver said. “All the priests who use the library must go through Adalbert. He really is very learned.”

“What these priests study isn’t learning, it’s superstition,” Malcolm said. “Adalbert is many things, but he’s hardly superstitious. He’s not even a Slav. He’s a Frank.”

“For the sake of Byelobog, don’t say the word ‘superstition’ in a fortress full of priests,” Oliver said.

“I’m not afraid of them,” Malcolm said. “Like you, I have ways to protect myself.”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” Oliver blurted out, then mentally kicked himself.

Malcolm looked curious. “What exactly did you hear?”

Oliver weighed his words carefully. He wasn’t going to get Tommy in _more_ trouble. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. “There were plenty of rumors in Celestia that you have some talent with magic.” He raised his hands. “I haven’t said anything. I understand the consequences. Still, it wouldn’t be surprising.”

“What wouldn’t be?”

“You knowing things you shouldn’t. Felicity told me you gave her some herbs.”

“She told you that, did she? She isn’t very adept at deception.” Malcolm laughed. “Not like Adalbert. What did she need those herbs for anyway?”

Oliver wasn’t about to tell Malcolm that. “I’m not sure. The Skalvians attacked after that, and Adalbert was taken. I found them in her things.”

“Yes, and right after you claimed her so dramatically - at Adalbert’s insistence, I can only assume. Although perhaps you did have your eye on her.” Malcolm clapped his hands together. “Yes, I can do some magic. I learned it on my travels, enough so that I can defend myself, so I’m not too worried about our situation here.”

The light in the sky was dying, and Oliver saw a winged shadow detach itself from the edge of the smoke hole and fly into the night. Out of the corner of his eye a spark flickered and held. In Malcolm’s palm the glass orb came alive and began to glow and fill the room with light. Oliver and Malcolm stared at it.

“The Vetrians have magic too,” Oliver said.

Malcolm nodded slowly. “And they want us to know it.”

 

>>\--->

 

  
Oliver slept poorly on the dirt floor of the cell, waking intermittently through the night to the sound of bells tolling. When dawn broke he heard footfalls outside the hut and then the low drone of a song.

Malcolm sat up on the shelf and blinked hard. “What is _that_?” he asked. “It’s early for a concert.”

“Angels sing the hours, not humans.” Oliver said. “This is a work song. Something you use to make dull tasks go faster. We sang them in the angel corps.”

“Dull tasks? Like what?” Malcolm asked.

“Marching, rowing, hoeing, digging,” Oliver said. “Anything that’s repetitive and can use a rhythm to help move and pass the time.”

“What language are they using?” Malcolm tilted his ear towards the door. “It sounds familiar, like a sloppier version of what the people speak now.”

“ _The people_ ,” Oliver said. “Angels don’t even speak Frankish anymore. We haven’t spoken it in Karelia for a hundred years at least.”

“We use it in our courts,” Malcolm said, “and ceremonially. Some of us still speak it fluently.”

“You’ve lived in Celestia, as have I,” Oliver said. “And my mother’s from Celestia.” He turned his ear to the smoke hole and concentrated. “It think it’s Old Slavonic,” Oliver said. “The language the people of Karelia spoke before the angels came.

“You know it?”

“No, but I’ve heard it on occasion - in rituals and on holy days. It’s softer and more sibilant than Slavonic. Listen. You can hear the gods’ names: Dazbog, Perun...”

From the range of voices outside, it was clear that there were both boys and men in the crowd. One voice, the leader’s deep tenor, sang a phrase, and the other voices repeated it. Woven into the litany was a rhythmic stepping pattern Oliver thought might involve bending or lunging. A half an hour or more passed before the song finished and the more chaotic sound of footfalls replaced singing.

The sun had risen higher, but the room wasn’t much warmer. The boy had been right. It was getting colder. He shouldn’t be cold, but the air was thinner so high on the mountain. Oliver wrapped the wool blanket more tightly around himself.

When the sun was in the middle of in the sky, the blond priest returned. The older man accompanying him had an even longer beard and pale woolen robe embroidered in gold thread. Oliver blinked at the sunlight that streamed in from the opened door. He got to his feet.

“Angel Malcolm,” the older priest said, “I apologize that we have welcomed you so ungraciously to Yasna Gora. My priests have been able to verify that you are indeed the clan leader of Ogon. Please forgive us. We have very few angel visitors here.” Oliver thought he saw his mouth twitch ever so slightly, but he couldn’t be certain.

“Please, please, come with me. I am Boguslav, the head priest here.” He made a waving gesture with his hand. “We have food waiting for you and a place where you can rest and bathe.”

Malcolm stood from the bench, his smile cool. “I suppose you might not be familiar with the leadership of Karelia since you rarely leave this mountain,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I would like something to eat and an hour or so of your time.” He gestured to Oliver, “We’ve come a long way to talk to you.”

“And you shall,” Boguslav said. “But later. My men will escort your companion to more comfortable quarters, as he is with you.”

Malcolm jerked his head down in a quick nod. “As you say.”

Oliver stared at him for a moment, certain Malcolm’s sense of self-preservation would make an eventual appearance, but Malcolm just said, “It’s important that I go with Boguslav, Oliver. We will see you shortly.” He followed Boguslav out the open door.

“Come,” the blond priest said to Oliver. As they stepped outside, the soldiers surrounded Oliver, and they walked through the dusty streets and further up the mountain, finally stopping before an ornately carved doorway of a wide, one-story building. A soldier opened it. “Please,” the priest said, waving his arm.

Inside the doorway, oiled linen openings let light into what seemed to be an antechamber. A painted mural of the Tree of Life, featuring Perun looking down from the heavens and Veles looking up from the underworld, was on the wall facing them. The wood floors shone with beeswax. The priest led Oliver to another room. Inside this one was a table covered with plates of food and wine goblets. He addressed the soldiers, “You may leave us.” The soldiers nodded and closed the door behind them.

“Please sit and eat,” the priest said. “I am Dobromil, and you are Oliver, clan leader of Zemlya, of course.”

Oliver stared at him. “You know who I am?”

“Of course,” Dobromil said, “Like my father, I apologize that our hospitality last night was so mean, but we will see to your needs now.”

“Thank you.”

“You are Adalbert’s new son by marriage.” Dobromil said.

Oliver felt the hair on his forearms raise. He waited for his gift to warn him of danger, but it was silent. “How do you know that?”

“We priests know many things,” Dobromil said. “To clarify: you are married to Adalbert’s daughter, Felicity?”

“She is my wife,” Oliver said.

“You claimed her three weeks ago. Was that Adalbert’s idea?” Dobromil asked.

Oliver felt his mouth drop open. “Who are you?” he asked.

“I told you,” Dobromil said. “I’m Dobromil. My father is Boguslav, the high priest of all of Karelia. I will take you to see him shortly, but I want to discuss something with you first.” He gestured at the food. “Please, eat. The women of my house will be angry with me if you do not.”

Oliver had the passing thought that perhaps the food was poisoned, but he was hungry and his gift was quiet. He took the fork that was before him and used it to spear a few slices of roasted lamb from the platter in the center. There were mushrooms, pickled onions, honeyed breads, apple slices, and three different kinds of cheese. It looked delicious, but momentarily he hesitated.

“If you do not like these choices, I can have them bring something else,” Dobromil said. “There is much left over from the feast.”

Oliver scooped up some mushrooms and onions and put them on top of the lamb. “This is excellent,” he said. “Exceptional. Even after our stay in Ladoga, I’m still overwhelmed by the quantity of food. In the castle we’ve been hungry for weeks.”

Dobromil nodded. “Yes, the siege. I’m sure it’s been difficult. We heard that in your quarter, you began rationing early, though, so no one is starving yet.”

“You heard…” Oliver put his fork down and stared at the priest. “How do you know me? I’ve been in Zvyozda less than two months’ time.”

“Your lack of establishment in the castle can only recommend you,” Dobromil said. “I’ll tell you what I know about you, but eat first.”

Oliver took a bite of the lamb and chewed it slowly. It was delicious, roasted to perfection. The smoky taste from the wood complemented the rich flavor of the meat.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Dobromil asked. “We roast it over cedar chips on holy days. It’s my favorite.” He smiled then folded his hands. “Yasna Gora has eyes throughout Veter, up to and including the castle. We knew when you flew over Veter on your way there before First Harvest. We did not expect you to interfere with so many of Zvyozda’s dynamics so quickly, however.”

Oliver’s fork stilled on the way to his mouth. “So many of the dynamics?”

Dobromil steepled his hands together. “Malcolm planned to dissolve Zemlya at the First Harvest celebration, effectively absorbing it into Ogon. You stopped that. Then you set up councils for humans to govern themselves in Zemlya - which meant that the other clan leaders had to give more leeway to their people as well. Finally, you put a stop to the angel violence in your quarter. All of those things put the angels in Zvyozda on notice.”

Dobromil uncorked a wine cask and filled Oliver’s glass. “You went to Adalbert for help, which indicated to us that you didn’t approve of the way the angel leaders were running things in the castle.” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Adalbert told you this?” Oliver asked.

“No. Adalbert’s not a Vetrian.” Dobromil popped an apple slice in his mouth and chewed. “We don’t rely on him to know what’s happening. It’s in our interest to know all of these things. Bad and good.” He raised an eyebrow at Oliver.

“You’re saying you _like_ what I’ve done?” Oliver asked.

“We do very much, especially since the siege, although most of your efforts on behalf of the people will be wasted, I’m afraid.”

Oliver frowned. “Why will they be wasted?”

“Because the Skalvians will prevail,” Dobromil said. “The angels can’t hold them off if they decide to fight, and the people will starve if the siege continues.”

“We’re working on evacuating the people,” Oliver said. “We get more of them out every day.”

“You can’t evacuate them all, or even most of them - if you don’t want the Skalvians to know what you’re doing. They likely do know, and just don’t care as long as the numbers are small enough.”

“What? Why do you say that?” Oliver asked.

“Well, they don’t seem particularly interested in killing people,” Dobromil said.

“They’ve beheaded hundreds of them,” Oliver said. “And put the heads on stakes outside Zvyozda.”

“To make the people fear. They want to control the castle with terror.”

“It’s working,” Oliver said, a little angry now. “You’re very cool in your assessments for a priest.”

“We exist to ensure that the gods are given their respect and notice,” Dobromil said. “That’s our role as priests. We also provide the people with leadership and try to protect them from those who would prey on them.”

Oliver waved a hand. “I can’t think of anything more predatory than the Skalvians. They’re besieging Karelia, and they’ve bled it dry of tribute for centuries.”

“They’re besieging Zvyozda,” the priest said, “and while we have sympathy for the people trapped there, we are more concerned about removing the angel leadership in the castle.”

Oliver stared. “We...Malcolm and I came here to ask for your help in fighting against the Skalvians.”

“Obviously,” Dobromil said. “It’s the only reason you’d walk all the way up the mountain to see us, and we _do_ want to help you. We care about the people of Karelia. Veter took in refugees when the Skalvians marched through Zemlya, and we cast our protection spell to cover them.”

This was too much information for Oliver to take in at once. “You cast protection over Zemlya? When?”

“Our priests cast the same blood spell that kept the Skalvians from taking Zvyozda last time.”

Oliver put a hand on the corner of the table and grasped it. “But if you could keep the Skalvians out of Veter, why didn’t you keep them out of Karelia?”

“We didn’t know they were coming, and the protection spell is difficult and draining. You need powerful magicians to cast it, and they must give their own blood for the spell to work. It’s unstable magic, more of an illusion of force than true force. It fades quickly, so it has to be done exactly right. The Skalvians left last time because they believed the illusion. If they’d waited a little longer… I don’t know why they didn’t.”

“Why not cast it over Zvyozda now? They might leave again if they thought it was futile.”

“Zvyozda is an angel seat. We have no interest in defending it,” Dobromil said. “If the Skalvians break the angels’ hold, they do us a favor.”

Oliver tried not to stare at Dobromil. “There are children in the castle,” he said, “and women.”

“And corrupt angels who abuse them,” Dobromil said. “Some of those people are Vetrians. We understand the desire to protect them, but the people who are living in Veter Quarter now chose their leader, and that’s Hugo,” Dobromil said. “They love the life they live in that city more than their own clan and their gods.”

“The angels chose Hugo,” Oliver said, “not the people.”

“Zvyozda is beyond saving,” Dobromil said, shrugging. “The angels spend all of their time amusing themselves. They ignore the rites and laugh at the gods. It’s not the angels alone either. The people there have forgotten the old ways and don’t want to be reminded. If the Skalvians destroy them, we will have lost little.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Dobromil folded his arms. “We do. We’ve tried for years to get the attention of the angels, to persuade them to do right by Veter and the other clans. They don’t listen.” He sighed. “No, the priests of Yasna Gora have cast the bones, and the bones say Perun listens and is with us.”

“But many of the angels are right now evacuating people out to Ladoga. The leadership may be corrupt, but the whole city shouldn’t suffer for it.”

“The priests here can’t see another way to scrape off this layer of rot,” Dobromil said. “Our goal is not to see the mass slaughter of people or angels, but we’re not going to put ourselves in danger to save those who wouldn’t help us - who, in fact, would like to see us dead.”

Oliver said, “You don’t understand the strength of the Skalvians. If they get a foothold in Karelia, they’ll be unstoppable. Right now they may want Zvyozda, but next spring, they’ll take Zemlya and then Veter, Ogon…”

“We can keep them out of Veter,” Dobromil said. “We already have.”

Oliver shook his head. “They burned villages in Veter. I saw it. They felled the largest and most ancient oak too.”

“Only the villages surrounding Zvyozda, the ones dependent on it,” Dobromil said. “We had to sacrifice those. When the current regime of angels is removed, we’ll kill the Skalvians, and re-establish a better Karelia, according to the wisdom of our ancestors.”

“You can’t hope to kill them,” Oliver said. “I’ve seen them in action. They’re unstoppable. Their skin is like iron. Arrows bounce off it. Even if the Skalvians do kill off all of the corrupt angels, the empire is not going to let Karelia go ungoverned. They’ll replace them with others, ones you won’t know at all, and they aren’t likely to be much better.”

Dobromil looked unperturbed. “Karelia won’t call for the replacement of all the angel leaders, and we don’t want the removal of all four.”

It took a moment, but then Oliver realized what he was saying. He put a hand on his chest. “You’re talking about me?”

“Celestia will see that Zvyozda has new leadership,” Dobromil said. “We would cast our support behind you for archangel.”

Oliver laughed. He couldn’t help it. “But no one in Karelia knows who I am. And Malcolm is drumming up support now. Why would anyone choose me over Malcolm?”

“We would choose you, and many other clan peoples would. You have a human wife. That makes you the only angel in Zvyozda with a human spouse. You’ve accepted human council, and you took refugees into your own home during the siege. Most importantly, you are the only angel in the castle who has given public respect and honor to the gods.”

Oliver went over his more public acts in his mind. “Do you mean pouring out my cup at the First Harvest celebration?”

“Yes,” Dobromil said. “That made an impression.”

“I don’t observe the rites,” Oliver said.

“Your wife does,” Dobromil said, “and your sign of respect in the presence of the other angels is more than anything we’ve seen from your kind in years.”

“The angels in Celestia will choose, not the people, even the priests,” Oliver said.

“You are a son - or at least a grandson of Celestia. You were in the Angel Corps. Your mother has connections to the highest angel households. There should be no problem. Even if the other clan leaders survive the siege, the people in the clan lands have turned against them, and time is on our side, not theirs.”

“Ogon hasn’t turned against Malcolm. I saw their support for him only days ago.”

Dobromil waved a hand dismissively. “Veter would like to ally with Zemlya,” Dobromil said. “Its lands run alongside ours, the people are farmers who have strong ties with their land, and we can trade our wood for their grain. Malcolm would have to create a similar alliance with Voda to even try to become archangel. We don’t think that will happen.”

Oliver tried another argument. “The Skalvians have had Adalbert for weeks. I promised my wife I’d find a way to return him to her.”

“Adalbert?” Dobromil looked surprised. “I can’t believe that. The Skalvians should not be able to capture or keep him.”

“Angels grabbed him and gave him to the Skalvians. I’m told he is being held in chains in their camp.”

“Held in chains,” Dobromil said. “I don’t understand it, but I will talk to Boruslav to see what we can do.”

“What do you think you can do for him here in Yasna Gora?”

“We have our ways,” Dobromil said. “As does Adalbert.”

“Adalbert isn’t loyal to Veter, is he? He’s been in Ogon for years.”

“Adalbert doesn’t have clan loyalties,” Dobromil said. “He doesn’t like angels and thinks that too much power concentrated in their hands makes them dangerous. He made the Slavic writings in the library available to us and welcomed us into his home when we needed a place to study them, though.  We will help him.”

“Adalbert let you stay in his house?” Oliver asked.

“He didn’t want to, but when he learned that Hugo was not allowing more priests in Veter Quarter, he did. He believes the books are for the people to use.”

“Hugo stopped priests from entering the city?”

Dobromil sighed. “Not entering, but staying there. Hugo wants to maintain his sphere of influence. He’s all but ceded Veter lands to us by refusing to travel outside of the city or rule. In the quarter, though, he won’t allow more than two - a trained priest and an acolyte. Any more than that and he worries he’ll be overthrown.”

Oliver shook his head. “That’s not likely to happen with a castle full of angels.”

“No one ever accused Hugo of brilliance,” Dobromil said. “In any case, the priests need the library to study the ancestral texts and other sources, so we appealed to Adalbert. He arranged for us to stay in rooms off the library for shorter stays, and one to live in his house from time to time if necessary.”

“He did all of that out of a concern for fairness?” Oliver asked.

Dobromil rubbed his thumb against the corner of his mouth. “No. We assisted him with certain projects he wanted accomplished.”  

Oliver thought of the hand copied book of prayers to Matka Zemlya and the little shrine in his bedroom back in Zemlya. Suddenly Felicity’s familiarity and devotion to the gods was more understandable. She hadn’t learned all of the rites from her mother, it seemed. “Did you ever stay with Adalbert?” Oliver asked.

“I did,” Dobromil said. His fair skin flushed. “For several months three years ago.”

Oliver felt the first prickles of his gift, and realized that he should weigh his words carefully. “So you know Felicity,” he said.

“I do,” Dobromil said almost defensively.

“She has a little book about Matka Zemlya,” Oliver said slowly, “with very detailed illustrations.”

Dobromil said, “I gave it to her as a parting gift for being so gracious to me.”

“It’s beautiful,” Oliver said. “She loves it. I thought Adalbert must have copied it.”

“Oh, no,” Dobromil said. “Adalbert has no interest in the gods. It’s the only thing we strongly disagreed about.”

Oliver nodded. “It was very thoughtful. You must have known she could read.”

“I--” Dobromil stilled.

Oliver smiled. “It’s alright. I know she can read too, and I certainly don’t hold it against her. She’s very bright.”

Dobromil relaxed. He picked up the bottle of wine and refilled Oliver’s goblet. “She is. She’s a very quick learner. If Adalbert gave her to you, he must have believed you were trustworthy.”

“Adalbert didn’t give Felicity to me,” Oliver said. “I claimed her to keep Malcolm from controlling her.” He bent his head down. “Adalbert asked me to protect her.”

Dobromil said, “That’s enough for us. We think you are the angel we want to put our force behind, Oliver. You have the skills to lead and the respect for tradition we require. You should accept our offer.”

Oliver closed his eyes. “I don’t want to be archangel. I want to save Zvyozda and Karelia, and avenge my father.”

“You could do both,” Dobromil said. “We would reward you for your service.”

“I don’t want rewards,” Oliver said. “All I want is to be on my way. You clearly aren’t going to help us with Zvyozda, so I can’t afford to spend any more time here.”

“The wine has made you tired,” Dobromil said, standing up. He waved his arm and the wall against the table shimmered and became a curtain. “Sleep now, and think on our offer. The rest will help to heal your wound and revive your mind. I will be back later to talk to you again.”

“My answer will be the same,” Oliver said.

“We’ll see,” Dobromil said. “We will see.”


End file.
